


Write First Then Read

by MittenWraith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Counselor Dean Winchester, Dean/Cas Pinefest 2020 (Supernatural), Fanfic Writers Dean and Castiel, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Librarian Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Gilda, Minor Donna Hanscum/Jody Mills, Minor Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester, Misunderstandings, POV Alternating, Two Person Love Triangle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith
Summary: Dean spent his life split in two--the Dean who showed up to work every weekday to give his students the tools they'd need to grow into their best selves, and the Dean who spent the rest of his time involved in the fandom for his favorite tv show.  Elementary school guidance counselor and prolific author of slash fiction didn't seem like compatible realities. Then he met the adorable librarian at his new school. There was something about Cas that broke through all of Dean's defenses.Cas had chosen his career path for his own happiness. Fostering the love of stories and storytelling in his students was fulfilling, but he kept his own fanfic writing to himself. His fandom life was the one thing he reserved purely for his own enjoyment, even if the price of that enjoyment was complete anonymity in the fandom. Then the new guidance counselor joined the staff at school and gave him a reason to question everything.Meanwhile, online...Impala67 and FicFeathers, long time friends and beta readers, were pushed to question what exactly their relationship was, and whether it could survive without the anonymity they'd both always insisted on. Of course it all had to blow up right before their draft deadline.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 603
Kudos: 496
Collections: Dean/Cas Pinefest 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this has been a long time coming! I have a lot of people to thank... primarily [dmsilvisart](http://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com) for the spectacular artwork, and the wonderful experience of collaborating with her.
> 
> (the art masterpost is [ right here!](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/post/615743233351417856/deancas-pinefest-2020-fic2-was-with-the))
> 
> I'd also like to thank [athaclena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athaclena/pseuds/athaclena/works) for beta reading and general support. (go read her knitting porn) :'D
> 
> And of course, I must thank the wonderful mods who make the Pinefest possible. Okay, fine, I'll thank Cass, who lets me help out a little bit, and everyone who continues to participate, helping us raise the finest pine around. I love this challenge, and all the authors and artists who join us every year. Thank you guys! :')

Dean slogged through his morning routine. Staying up well past two in the morning to write the end of the fic he’d been working on for months now had probably not been the greatest choice, in retrospect. He’d set his personal draft deadline months ago, though, when he’d landed this new job. It might not have been due for claims in the NealEm Pinefest until the end of September, but he didn’t want to have to deal with the pressure of feeling his way around a new workplace while rushing to finish his fic.

Plus it wasn’t like he could casually explain the obsessive hobby weighing heavily on his mind to his new coworkers. _Yeah, in my spare time I write novel-length gay fanfiction about two dudes from a pulpy horror tv show._

Yes, he knew there was nothing inherently wrong with writing slash fanfiction for his favorite show, nor with his particular television genre preferences, but he also knew he’d have a difficult enough time being accepted as a male guidance counselor at an elementary school as it was. There’d apparently already been a few objections to his hiring, but Principal Baker had tried to tell him that it had more to do with parents missing the retiring Missouri Moseley than a specific objection to Dean himself taking over her old position.

“We’re a close-knit school,” Mildred had assured him the week before during his final interview at the Edlund School, after she’d convinced him to call her Mildred instead of Principal Baker. “We’re like a family, and sometimes we find it difficult to let go when someone’s decided it’s time to move on. Everyone will warm up to you once they get a chance to know you, Dean. I have every confidence in you. You’re gonna fit right in.”

Dean had tried to give her his best smile as she continued their tour around the rest of the school, but he’d already been overwhelmed. Fitting in at work had been pretty low on his priority list for the last few months. Higher up the list of things to worry about had been sending out a ream of job applications, moving halfway across the country, uprooting his entire life, and settling in to a town where the only people he’d really known had been Sam and Rowena. And even they were still a half hour away. At least Dean had his online community and the Pinefest to keep him feeling connected. If only his entire fandom crowd actually lived in suburban Maryland, secretly disguised as all his new neighbors he’d barely had a chance to meet yet. Or better yet, as his new coworkers. That was probably hoping for too much.

The only fandom friend he knew was in the area was Charlie. She’d taken him under her wing years ago when he’d first started watching Unnatural. She’d introduced him to fanfiction and the wider community, and had been one of the very few people he’d interacted with in fandom who even knew his real identity, let alone where he lived.

He would’ve been lying if he said that Sam was the only reason he’d left his old life behind in Lawrence. Charlie had even helped him pick out an apartment, recommending neighborhoods that would be convenient, close to his new job, and most importantly, close enough for her to continue her campaign to convince him to come out of his shell and join her at one of the annual Unnatural conventions. He was still working up the nerve for that one. He’d only met Charlie face to face for the first time a few months earlier.

He knew Charlie had a group of friends she got together with for viewing parties, many of whom he recognized by the names they used in fandom. He’d sworn her to secrecy, though, about his move. As far as he knew, she’d kept her word. She understood why he felt the need to keep his real identity separate from his fandom persona, and respected his wishes to keep his private life private.

He downed his morning coffee while reading a text from Sam, _Good luck with your first day at school._ It had been the annual joke between them since Dean had graduated college and then gone directly back to elementary school. He replied with the traditional, _Thanks, mom_ , and then hurried to get there on time.

School might not have been starting officially for a few more days, but Dean’s work had already begun in earnest. Answering emails from parents concerned about their child’s classroom placements, familiarizing himself with the school’s policies and procedures, and stressing over the speech he’d been asked to give during the orientation assembly scheduled for the end of the week kept him busy for most of the morning. There was also the matter of meeting the rest of the staff, which he was both excited about and nervous for. He’d smiled and waved at a few folks passing by his office throughout the morning, but he must’ve looked too busy to bother. Either that or he was just a mild curiosity as the new guy, and the rest of the returning staff were trying to scope him out from a distance. He’d meet them all soon enough, he figured. Until then, he mostly tried to keep his head down and get through his morning.

Just as Mildred had told him their school was like a family, he’d felt exactly the same way about his old school back in Lawrence. He’d only worked there a few years before Sam called him up with the news that he’d landed a job clear across the country. Dean had considered relocating to California once or twice while his brother had been in college. After Sam had decided to stay out there for law school, it had become a serious consideration, but Sam had never been sure where he wanted to settle down when he graduated. If Dean was gonna pick up his whole life and start over somewhere new, he didn’t want to have to do it twice. He could wait for Sam to figure out his own life first.

It took a full year after Sam and Rowena moved to Maryland for Dean to begin thinking the time was right to consider following them. Dean casually put in a few job applications before Principal Baker had called him back to offer him an interview. One flight out, and one meeting with an overly-enthusiastic Charlie later, and Dean’s entire life began to change.

Unfortunately since school had let out in June, it had all been changing in fast forward. In less than two and a half months, he’d packed up and then unpacked his entire life again. It had barely left him enough time to maintain his self-imposed writing schedule, let alone have much time left over for keeping up with his fandom friends. At least the show itself had been on hiatus through the entire ordeal, so it wasn’t like he’d been missing out on the week to week drama of new episodes. He still had six weeks left to settle in before his Thursday nights would once again be dedicated to multiple rewatches and intense blogging about the latest adventures of his favorite monster hunters.

Now that he’d finished moving in and unpacking his life, and finished his draft for the Neal/Emmanuel Pinefest-- probably the biggest and most well known writing challenge in the entire fandom-- he was really looking forward to having a chance to get caught up with his online friends. Sure, he’d been peeking his head in every once in a while, and keeping in touch with a few of the people he’d grown close with, but he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed them all anyway. As he sat at his new desk sending the last email of the morning, he thought maybe he could get away with scrolling through the Pinefest Discord chat for just a few minutes, and hopefully catching up with a few people. He pulled out his phone, unsure if Discord was even something he’d risk installing on his official work computer, and sighed.

“How sad is it that all my friends are in my pocket?” he muttered under his breath, but then smiled as their words filled the screen.

He scrolled up through the most recent messages-- random writing check-ins, a few discussions about procrastination, a meme he didn’t have any context for that apparently had something to do with something one of the actors had said at a con the previous weekend that he was only learning about now. He kept scrolling, looking for a few specific names until he spotted the one he’d most been hoping to see. FicFeathers had checked in late the night before for the regular evening word count update with a respectable 800 words written, and a lament about having to get up early for work in the morning. Dean himself had missed the evening update, too busy writing the last few thousand words of his own story to stop and report in on his progress.

“Never too late to report a win,” he said to himself as he typed out a progress update.

 **Impala67** : Delayed reporting in, but I pulled a late one last night finishing this draft. Bring on the beta readers, this fic is a go.

He grinned at the message for a second before several people popped in to reply.

 **QueenOfMoons** : DUDE. KUDOS.

 **Impala67** : Maybe wait until after you read it before handing out kudos. It’s probably one big typo still.

 **QueenOfMoons** : You know what I mean, Imp. Take the congrats like a big boy.

A few other people congratulated him, and he’d been about to log out when Feathers finally poked his head in and left a :tada: reaction on Dean’s announcement post.

 **FicFeathers** : So are you soliciting for a beta reader? Congratulations are in order, but I admit I could use a mental break from writing if you’re interested.

 _Interested_ was a vast understatement. Dean was _always_ interested in anything that would give him an excuse to spend more time chatting with Feathers. They’d been friends online for several years now, bouncing writing ideas off each other and frequently discussing their favorite show, but unlike with Charlie, Feathers had steadfastly maintained his anonymity, by his own choice. Dean understood completely, and had never pushed against his self-imposed boundaries. Hell, he had plenty of his own in place, too. But of everyone he talked to online, Feathers was the one he wished he could get to know for real.

A voluntary offer to beta read such a rough draft for him felt like one of those boundaries beginning to crack. Of course Dean would jump at the chance.

 **Impala67** : Feathers, if you’re up for it, I’ll send you a link when I get home tonight. I was gonna take another pass over it myself first, but if you’re that hard up for reading material I wouldn’t say no.

Dean watched the bottom of the screen, telling him that Feathers was typing a message before it appeared.

 **FicFeathers** : I eagerly look forward to it, then.

 **Impala67** : :thumbsup: I’ll DM you as soon as I get home. Back to work for me now. See you later.

The second he set his phone down in his lap, Dean ran through a gauntlet of emotions. Anticipation for his chat with Feathers took center stage for a minute before giving way to abject terror at the thought of Feathers actually reading his unedited fic. Sure, they’d beta read for each other numerous times over the years, but never for such a rough draft. Maybe Feathers would understand if Dean wanted another few days to at least give the whole thing a once-over before submitting to the mortifying ordeal of having his draft picked apart. Not that Feathers was a harsh editor, but that’s always how first drafts felt to Dean anyway. Like walking out the front door naked.

He’d shared that metaphor with Charlie once, and she’d laughed at him.

“At least you look good naked,” she’d joked, long before she’d ever met him in person, or even seen a photo of him. “I’m sure you’re a regular Adonis, if your drafts are anything to go by.”

When they’d finally met face to face two months ago, she’d taken one look at him and gave him an impressed thumbs up. Dean had to ask what the hell she was talking about, but she’d remembered that conversation all those years in careful anticipation of that moment.

“Dude, I am seriously impressed. I was just trying to compliment your writing skills. I swear I had no idea how accurate it was.”

Dean had turned beet red right there in the coffee shop where they’d met. “Yeah, well it worked as a joke back then. Now I’m just feeling kinda awkward about it.”

Charlie shrugged and then patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “It’s not like you got anything to worry about from me.”

Feathers, on the other hand, was still mostly a mystery. They talked about the show, their writing, and the fandom, but any time their conversations veered toward work or their personal lives beyond a movie they saw or what they had for lunch, Feathers had shut it down and changed the subject. It hardly even seemed to matter anymore, this complete blank spot of the nitty gritty details of their lives. Dean felt he knew Feathers better than some people he’d known his entire life, just from his writing. Anyone who could produce such insightful commentary and analysis of the deeper themes of the show, as well as some of the steamiest smut and most heartfelt romance between the main characters, not to mention his offbeat and often quietly hilarious sense of humor, well… Dean knew the author was someone he needed in his life, in whatever way Feathers would allow him in.

With a resigned sigh he knew right then he’d be forwarding a copy of his draft the moment he got home from work. No matter how rough it was or how naked it might make him feel.

A gentle knock on his door startled him out of his reverie, and only then did he realize he’d just been sitting with his phone in his lap, staring vacantly at his computer monitor like an idiot.

“Is everything all right, Dean?” Mildred asked. “You look a little lost there.”

Dean plastered on a smile and shook his head. “I just realized I’ve got an empty inbox already. Kinda took me by surprise, I guess.”

Mildred smiled at him. “None of the parents are giving you any trouble yet, I hope.”

Dean stood up and stepped around his desk with a laugh. “No, nothing I can’t handle. What can I do for you?”

“I was just checking up on you, seeing how you’re settling in. It sounds like you’re doing just fine.”

“So far, so good,” Dean replied.

“I don’t know if any of the staff have come by to introduce themselves yet, but we’re all taking a scheduled break to have lunch together,” Mildred told him. “Consider this your formal invitation to join us.”

“Well, how can I resist an offer like that?”

Mildred gave him an approving smile and led the way to the cafeteria, where the parents’ association had arranged a potluck lunch spread to welcome the staff back to school. She introduced him to a few other teachers they met up with in the halls on the way there, and by the time they’d filled their plates and found seats, Dean had been introduced to two dozen teachers and administrators.

“It’s a good thing everyone wears ID badges,” he joked with a third grade teacher whose badge read Jody Mills.

“If you think this is bad, wait until Monday when the halls are teeming with kids,” she said with a grin as another teacher sat down beside her. “Most of us make them wear some sort of name tags for at least the first week of school, but even that only helps so much.”

The new teacher grinned at Dean and stuck her hand out for him to shake. “Donna Hanscum, fifth grade.” Dean shook her hand and listened to her talk right over any introduction he was able to make. “You must be Dean. It’s a lot easier on us classroom teachers to get a handle on our own groups of kids. I don’t envy you guys that have to remember every kid in the whole dang school.”

Dean frowned at her and cast a glance at Mildred. “I thought I was the only counselor?”

Donna nodded at him earnestly. “You are, but at least you mostly get ‘em one at a time. Other folks see every kid in the school at least once a week. There’s Garth and Bess Fitzgerald who handle the gym and communications classes, Alicia Banes teaches art and her brother Max is the music man. Plus there’s Cas Novak in the library.”

She pointed out each of the people she named, and Dean followed along as best he could. Garth and Bess sat side by side at a table with several other teachers he’d been introduced to but was now blanking on their names. From what he could tell, they looked like a couple of newlyweds, the way they kept smiling at each other. Alicia was easy to spot, laughing at a joke one of the parents serving their food had told her, while Max rocked along to whatever was playing on his headphones as he grabbed a soda from a large cooler in the corner of the room. Cas was another story. The man Donna indicated was sitting almost directly behind him, his back turned to them as he ate, hunched over a book spread out on the table beside his plate. All Dean had was a really nice view of the back of Cas’s messy head of hair.

Jody took pity on Dean as he twisted back around in his seat, likely exposing the slightly dazed look on his face. “Don’t you worry, Dean. It’s a lot to take in all at once like this.”

“That’s what I tried to tell him this morning,” Mildred replied. “Nobody here’s gonna be mad if it takes you a bit to get acclimated.”

“We’re real glad to have you here,” Donna added with a warm smile that Dean was beginning to realize was Donna’s default personality setting. “Mildred only hires the best people.”

“Well then,” Dean said, clearing his throat and hoping his cheeks weren’t turning pink under the praise from a group of people he’d never even met before, “I hope I can live up to her expectations.”

The rest of the day went a lot more smoothly. He replied to a few more emails, fielded a phone call from a distraught parent who’d lost the packet of registration forms they needed to fill out for their child, and began working on his short speech for orientation day. Dean only needed to stand up in front of the entire incoming student body and their families for a minute or two to introduce himself, but sitting there staring at at a blinking cursor on his computer screen wasn’t helping him get much past, “Hi, I’m Dean Winchester, the new guidance counselor.”

As just one of a dozen or so staff members sharing podium space at the orientation assembly, he was counting on everyone else covering most of the basics. He wouldn’t need to discuss school policies, or remind parents of his contact information. This was just supposed to be about putting a face to his name in the school directory, and reassuring everyone of his qualifications to be there in the first place. All he had to do was not shove his own foot in his mouth. At the rate he was going, that was beginning to sound like a better option than trying to come up with a clever speech.

In a fit of frustration, Dean pushed himself back from his desk and stood up. He snatched up his empty coffee mug and set out to wander the halls under the pretense of looking for a refill. Rather than heading directly to the staff room and it’s surprisingly decent coffee, he took the long route around the halls of the school. Mostly he was hoping inspiration would strike him out of the blue.

The halls were all decked out with Welcome Back To School banners and artwork. Some of the individual classroom doors and billboards lining the halls were decorated as well, and Dean stopped occasionally to admire them. Jody’s third grade classroom door was decorated with colorful pictures of books with her students’ names carefully written in as each title. Donna’s fifth grade door looked like NASA Junior Headquarters, with pictures of the planets and fun messages like “Fifth graders are out of this world!” and “We’re all stars here!” It was oddly comforting in how similar it was to his previous school. He already felt like he was fitting into their little family. The building itself had been transformed since his tour with Mildred just a week ago. It no longer felt eerily empty, and was now filled with life and sound and color, just as a school should be.

As he finally wound back around toward the teachers lounge, he passed by the library. Last time he’d seen it, it had been dark and silent, and Mildred had only given him a quick peek in through the windows on the doors so he could familiarize himself with the layout of the school. Now the big double doors were propped open wide, practically inviting him inside. He had been meaning to browse through the collection, and possibly pick out a few books to keep in his office. He found meetings with parents often went more smoothly if the kids had something to amuse themselves with, and some books were just good to have on hand for helping students work through whatever issues they might be having. Dean checked the clock in the hallway and noted he still had more than an hour to finish writing the speech he’d been procrastinating on all afternoon, and decided that surrounding himself with words might help kick him into gear to just get it done already.

He sighed, stared at his empty mug in his hand, and decided he could procrastinate just a few more minutes. With the lights on and the walls decorated with colorful posters illustrating the Dewey Decimal System hung above the shelves, the huge room felt fun and inviting. Dean was grateful to see the size and scope of the school’s collection, always feeling good about working at a school that was clearly trying to instill a love of reading in the students. He’d half expected to see the librarian sitting at the circulation desk, but there probably wasn’t a lot of circulation happening yet. Several other doors led out of the main library area, and the librarian-- Cas, Jody had told him-- could be behind any one of them, busy with important library work. Dean figured he’d meet the man eventually, but he was already there, and so he decided to at least take a quick look through the stacks for the handful of books he’d kept in his office back in Lawrence. Even if he couldn’t check them out on the spot, he could assemble a list and come back for them later.

He set his mug down on top of the shelves and was browsing beneath the big 700’s poster proclaiming that section of shelves was dedicated to arts and recreation. Dean had become distracted from his procrastinating by attempting to see the pictures in a Magic Eye book for the thousandth time. Just like the first 999 times he’d tried, the best he could do was unfocus his eyes enough to make the patterns look blurry. He’d completely lost himself in his determination to see the hummingbird the book insisted was hidden in the image.

“You need to hold it close to your face, relax your eyes, and slowly move it away until the image resolves,” a deep and rumbling, and highly amused voice said almost directly behind him.

“Gaaaah!” Dean fumbled the book, spinning on his heel and feeling like an idiot for having been so badly startled. He’d been so intent on the page in front of him he hadn’t heard the man approach. He could blame it on the inherent quiet of libraries, but as he spun around, he got his first view of the man he’d only seen from the back in the cafeteria that afternoon. The view more than made up for the fact the guy had managed to sneak up on him in the first place. It might not have been the suave, or at least dignified introduction Dean would’ve hoped for, but his comical reaction had put a mischievous smile on Cas’s face, so that had to count for something.

Cas took pity on him, his smile widening at whatever Dean’s face was doing. “Don’t worry, I can’t see them either,” he said, pointing to the book in Dean’s hands. “They say almost everyone should be able to, but it just gives me a headache to try. I think it’s good for the students to know that they’re not broken or deficient if they struggle with it themselves. I’m Castiel Novak, by the way. Librarian and sometimes unintentional provider of surprise heart palpitations. My apologies for sneaking up on you.”

Heart palpitations was right, Dean thought as he struggled to compose himself in the face of Castiel’s quiet amusement. And wow, he was having an entirely different sort of palpitations as he took in the fact that Cas was fucking _hot_. Dean wondered what it was about casually rumpled librarians that totally did it for him, and accepted the fact he hadn’t even spoken an intelligent word to Cas yet and was already half gone on the guy. He shook his head and remembered where he was and what he’d been doing, reminding himself that randomly hitting on coworkers on his first day was the worst of all possible choices, and settled for attempting a coherent sentence first.

“Dean,” he said, clearing his throat and holding out a hand for Cas to shake. “Dean Winchester, guidance counselor and sometimes procrastinator getting lost in a library to avoid writing speeches.”

Cas’s smile bloomed again as he shook Dean’s hand. “Aah, yes. The annual ritual. I remember my first year, I had no idea what to say. Mildred convinced me I just needed to introduce myself, inform the parents their children would have a weekly library lesson, and attempt to recruit parent volunteers to take regular shifts manning the circulation desk. It’s far less traumatic than it sounds on the surface.”

Dean chuckled at Cas’s confidential tone. “Less traumatic to volunteer in the library, or to write the speech?”

“I won’t deny that an elementary school library is filled with potential trauma, such as giving yourself a headache trying to see Magic Eye pictures,” Cas replied with a laugh. “But I was referring to the speech writing. Just introduce yourself, and reassure the attendees that you’re there for them and their children. Maybe share a bit about your previous experience and set them at ease.”

“Uh, yeah, I heard there were a lot of upset families when my predecessor retired,” Dean said. “Sounds like I got some pretty big shoes to fill.”

Cas glanced down at Dean’s feet. “Your shoes look plenty full, Dean. I’m sure everyone still misses Missouri, but no one begrudges her choosing to move on.”

“Well, I hope not.”

Cas let out a little sigh and Dean realized they were just standing there staring at each other. Getting lost in the twinkling shades of deep blue in Cas’s eyes was definitely a vast improvement to staring at the picture he couldn’t see, but he’d already spent enough time avoiding the one thing he really needed to handle.

“Sorry to interrupt whatever you were doing,” he said, waving a hand around the library. “I figured I’d get myself in a writing mood if I was surrounded by books, I guess.”

“I’d be happy to help you compose your speech, if writing’s not really your thing,” Cas offered.

Dean had to laugh at that. He had well over a million words of fanfic posted on AO3. Writing was _definitely_ his thing. Even if it wasn’t a thing he talked about with his coworkers. “Yeah, no, the writing part’s not so bad. It’s more the standing up in front of a few hundred people and reading it that’s got me freaking out about it.”

“Well, I don’t think I can offer you any help with that, then,” Cas said, nodding in sympathy. “Would it help you to think of it as something you’re writing to be printed in a newsletter, or sent as an email? Sometimes approaching a conundrum from a different angle changes everything.”

Dean snorted. “What, like tricking my brain into jumping the hurdle by telling it there’s no hurdle?”

Cas shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

Dean considered that for a minute and figured it was worth a try. Hell, it wasn’t that different from the way he’d psyched himself up to plow through the last few thousand words of his fic the previous night.

“You’re a genius, Cas. I think I got it now.”

“I’m just a frustrated writer who’s spent many a long hour teasing stubborn words out of thin air. I’m glad I could help.”

“Speaking of help, I was wondering about your policy on checking books out to staff. I like to keep a rotating selection of books in my office. Never know when I’ll need to keep a fidgety kid occupied.”

Cas’s entire expression brightened. “I have something for you, then,” he said, and motioned for Dean to follow him across the library to another open door into a smaller workroom. “Missouri left me these back in June, with the instruction to offer them to you first before adding them to our general circulation.”

The door had been closed before, so Dean figured the little office had been where Cas was hiding when he’d come in. At least now he knew where to look for Cas next time he came in and was confronted by half a dozen closed doors.

Inside the workroom, the walls were lined with tall shelves packed with books, cases of paper, and other supplies. Cas pulled one of the boxes off a shelf and set it down on the edge of a table covered with stacks of books in front of Dean. He peeked inside and was pleasantly surprised to find a number of the books he’d planned to check out himself, in addition to a few he wasn’t yet familiar with.

“Wow, Cas, this is awesome,” Dean replied, looking from the books into Cas’s pleased face. “You sure you don’t need these? There’s a lot in here.”

Cas shrugged. “I have duplicates of most of them already. You’re free to do with them what you will.” He raised an eyebrow at Dean and leaned in a bit closer. “As long as you promise you won’t use them as an excuse to put off your speech writing.”

“Yeah, well, I think I can be a grownup about it. Write first, then read.” Dean said, and saw a flicker of something he wasn’t sure was amusement or shock on Cas’s face at that offhand comment. “Thanks, man. I’ll let you know if there’s any other books I need, but this should be enough to get started with.”

Dean picked up the box and smiled at Cas. They stared at each other for another few seconds before he finally cleared his throat and juggled the heavy box to get a better grip on it.

“You know where to find me,” Cas said. “That goes for book recommendations as well as any questions you might have about the school in general. I tend to be more available during the first week of school than most of the classroom teachers. Student library visits don’t start until the week after next.”

“I appreciate it, Cas,” Dean replied, heading back out into the library intending to return to his own office. “I guess you know where to find me, too, huh?”

“At your desk writing your speech, I hope,” Cas replied, and Dean nodded with a grin. “Once you’ve written it, if you need a practice audience, I’ll be happy to offer my services for that, as well.”

“Long as you promise not to hurl rotten tomatoes at me, you got a deal,” Dean said, backing toward the door.

“I would never,” Cas replied. “At least, not in the library.”

Cas gave a little wave when he was out in the hall, and Dean turned on his heel and headed toward his office. Even burdened by the heavy box, Dean’s steps were lighter than they’d been all day. He’d already been made to feel welcome by Mildred and the other staff, but for the first time since he’d been hired, he felt his anxiety over his entire move beginning to slip away. Cas had done more than make him feel welcome, he’d made him feel at ease.

Dean sat on the floor happily shelving the books for a few minutes when he returned to his office. The long row of shelves by the door looked a lot better with something on them, and already made him feel more at home. He thought about Sam’s offer to get him an office-warming gift of a houseplant, which he’d dismissed with a snort at the time. His office only had a small window into an interior hallway in the building, and a plant wouldn’t likely live long without direct sunlight. Now he thought a little plant might be just what the shelves needed. He was sure there were plants that could survive entirely indoors. Hell, even a fake plant would brighten the place up a bit.

He was just standing up to stretch the kinks out of his back and admire his handiwork when a knock at his door interrupted him for the second time that afternoon. Cas stood in the doorway, holding Dean’s coffee mug and wearing a contrite expression. He held up the mug, as if he’d needed an excuse to interrupt Dean’s stretching.

“I believe this may be yours?” Cas asked, hesitating for just a moment before stepping into Dean’s office. “You left it in the library. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of filling it with coffee. I wasn’t sure how you take it, but I assumed you’d been on your way for a refill…” he trailed off as Dean blinked at him.

“Oh, yeah. Huh. I guess I was sidetracked. And however you fixed it is fine. I’m not picky, as long as it’s not decaf.”

Cas smiled, relieved, and handed the mug to Dean. “I added a bit of hazelnut creamer to it. I find it improves the staff room coffee.”

Dean took a sip and sighed. It was sweet and nutty and smooth, with none of the bitterness of the black coffee he’d been drinking all day. “Yeah, it’s great, Cas. Thanks.”

“So you’re a hockey fan?” Cas asked, pointing at the bright red Washington Capitals mug.

Dean looked at the mug and laughed. “My brother gave it to me when I moved here. Said I needed to show a little local team spirit.”

Cas tilted his head ever so slightly to the side as if this was fascinating new information to him. “You moved to the area recently, then?”

Dean shrugged. “About a month ago, now. I’ve lived in Kansas most of my life, so it’s been an adjustment. But Sam and his wife settled here after college, and they’re my only family, so it seemed like a good time to pick up stakes.” He raised the mug again. “And Kansas doesn’t have a hockey team, so Sam figured that would be the easiest local team for me to root for. No conflicting loyalties.”

Cas hummed, considering that logic. “Kansas doesn’t have a basketball team, either,” he eventually replied.

“Yeah, but it’s easy to root for a Stanley Cup winner,” Dean replied with a grin. “Or that’s what my brother keeps saying, anyway.”

“He’s probably right. Unfortunately I don’t know enough about sports to be the judge of that.”

“Well, then, if you ever wanna learn, you let me know.”

Cas nodded. “I might do that. And I’ll extend my previous offer, as well. I’m sure you’re settling in well by now, but since you’re not just new to the Carver Edlund School, but new to the area, if you have questions about anything at all, I’m happy to answer them as best I can. I’ve been here for a few years now, and I’m only just beginning to feel like it’s my home town.”

Dean perked up at that. “So what brought you to the area?”

Cas held up a finger and raised an eyebrow at Dean. “Is this another strategy to avoid writing your speech?”

“Dude, you’re worse than my friend Charlie,” Dean said with a laugh. “She’s a regular taskmaster, at least when she’s not the one trying to distract me.”

Cas nodded his approval. “She sounds like a supportive friend, which I will attempt to be now. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to hear my boring origin story some other time.”

Dean caught a glance at the clock on his wall, just above Cas’s head, and sighed. Somehow he’d managed to kill the better part of an hour since the beginning of his walk around the halls, and for all he knew, his email inbox would be overflowing again, as well.

“Okay, then. If I don’t see you again today, you can start boring me to death over lunch tomorrow. Deal?”

Cas smiled at him and nodded. “You have a deal.”

Dean had been right about his email inbox, but he ignored it entirely until he’d written out his speech. It hadn’t taken nearly as long as he’d dreaded, using Cas’s suggestion that he pretend to write it as regular, friendly correspondence. As soon as Cas had left, Dean looked up his email address in the staff directory, and typed the entire speech out in about ten minutes. He read it over a few times, and when he was satisfied with it, he typed out a little note to Cas at the top of it.

“Thanks for today. Consider this proof of work. I can swing by the library and read it to you tomorrow if you want, but I think this is good enough. I’m still holding you to lunch.--Dean”

He read the whole thing again to make sure he didn’t sound too eager or clingy. He’d just met the guy, after all, and told him he basically doesn’t have any other friends here yet. It’s not like Dean’s desperate for human company or anything, but Cas had really done a number on him in the few minutes they’d talked. He was definitely someone Dean wanted to get to know better, but he could be patient. Dean plugged in Cas’s email address and hit send.

That handled, he printed out a copy of his speech so he wouldn’t have to memorize it or read it off his phone like a dork, and then set to work replying to the rest of his email. By the time he was done, most of the school had closed down for the evening and the staff had gone home. On his way out, he walked past the library and was only a little disappointed to find the lights off and the doors closed. He cheered himself up with the reminder that Feathers would be waiting to talk to him when he got home, and set out determined to enjoy his first free evening in a week.


	2. Chapter 2

Cas had arrived to work early, knowing he had a lot to do to get the library ready for the school year, but also that the first day back tended to be a social event as much as a work event. He was fully prepared for everyone in the building to pop in at some point to ask how his summer had been, or just to get a change of scenery from the chaos of setting up their classrooms. By lunchtime, he’d labeled and set up several hundred new books in the computer system, and exchanged pleasantries with the majority of the teachers. On the up side, Donna had spent half an hour helping him sort through the new shipment of books while she’d talked his ear off about her summer road trip. It had passed the time in a more pleasant way than he’d expected, and it had also probably been the most productive half hour of his day, thanks to her.

He’d been busy, yes, but that didn’t mean he also didn’t occasionally have time to check in on Discord. The closer they got to the draft deadline, the more the Pinefest board was filled with writers in various states of panic, and he felt a compulsion to help as many of them as he could when he had the time. He liked to think the patience he’d learned working with young children served him well in talking frantic authors down off ledges, too. It was a bit of fortuitous timing that he’d just taken a break to sit down for a minute when none other than Impala67 popped in to the chat to announce he’d finished his draft. It was nice to stumble into the channel to a celebration of good news for once. He’d been struggling with the final chapters of his own fic for the last few days, as well, and getting a chance to pounce on beta reading for someone else seemed like a fortuitous opportunity. It definitely didn’t hurt that the someone else in question was Impala.

Cas had always enjoyed his storytelling. The man knew how to weave a compelling narrative, and their opinions on the show and characters lined up so well that they often found themselves reblogging one another’s posts and commenting back and forth for days. It made for a thoroughly enjoyable experience for both of them, and their friendship had become important to Cas in ways that honestly frightened him a little bit.

In all his years in fandom, Cas had kept a careful distance. His fandom life and his real life were two entirely separate entities. That divide had served him well, allowing him to have both the career he loved and the hobby he lived for. When he’d graduated and moved to Maryland, he’d fully intended to write children’s books, and was certain that a large catalogue of erotic fanfic posted under his real identity wouldn’t help that career along. It had been a long time since he’d let that particular aspiration fall by the wayside and accepted that he far preferred keeping his writing strictly in the arena of adult fanfiction for his own personal enjoyment over the constant self-promotion and endless drama of commercial publishing. By the time he’d made that choice for himself, the habit of meticulously concealing his identity had become a part of his online persona. Even years later, he still remained firm about that rule, for no reason other than that’s how he’d always engaged in fandom.

That is, until he’d begun interacting with Impala. It didn’t hurt that Impala had a similar set of rules he stuck to in fandom. They’d come very close to crossing those lines on several occasions during late night debates about the show, but they’d both always stopped short of actually properly introducing themselves to one another. Impala had hinted that he had grown up in the midwest, in the region where a fair amount of the action on Unnatural was set. He often fielded questions about the midwest from writers looking to improve their authenticity, and had a humorous take on the show’s filming locations in Vancouver pretending to be small-town middle America. Cas understood a lot of Impala’s complaints, having grown up outside of Chicago on the divide between urban and rural-- not that he’d ever said as much online. Aside from that, they’d never let themselves share anything that could identify them to one another in real life.

But oh boy, had he been tempted.

That old, ingrained order to his life had still stubbornly kept him from actually going through with it, though. For all limits they’d imposed on their interactions, he felt there was a real connection between them. Cas had spent many a sleepless night wondering if that wall he’d erected to secure his future so long ago had actually become more of a stumbling block that was standing in his way now.

When Impala agreed to share his draft, even in the raw state he claimed it was, Cas felt like it might just be an opportunely placed door in that wall. Sure, they’d swapped manuscripts in the past to edit for one another, but never at this early, unpolished stage of writing. He only felt a little guilty for hoping there was a lot he could help Impala with. Typically his drafts were well into the editing phase before he let anyone peek at his work. Cas’s impulsive offer could provide them with a wonderful and convenient excuse to talk even more frequently, and about something they weren’t allowed to share with anyone else yet. The secrecy inherent in a Pinefest fic, shared between them, might finally help him decide if he was ready to fling that door wide.

The thought of going home to a new Impala fic buoyed him through the rest of the day. He worked through lunch, catching up on reading the first book he intended to teach the incoming fifth graders. It gave him a chance to finally get a bit of peace and quiet, though. By that point he’d greeted pretty much everyone, and having fifteen minutes to just sit quietly by himself seemed the least he deserved. Luckily everyone in the lunch room was too busy enjoying the buffet the PTA had provided to bother him.

Things quieted down for him that afternoon. He’d been convinced he’d seen his last visitor as the day wound down, until an unfamiliar figure invaded his library. The man stood intently staring at a picture book, and Cas knew it had to be the new guidance counselor. He hadn’t meant to startle the man, but it had proven to be an effective ice breaker. Cas wasn’t sure he would’ve been capable of approaching the man otherwise. If he’d seen Dean Winchester’s face before he’d snuck up on him, he was positive he wouldn’t have had the courage to go through with the little prank. Luckily for him, Dean’s flustered few moments of surprise had given Cas a few seconds to blink in awe at him. Dean had been an awful lot to take in, as the writer part of Cas’s brain battled between rapturous purple prose to describe his stunning green eyes and constellations of freckles, and speechless silence as words failed him entirely in the face of such overwhelming beauty. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d been capable of initiating any sort of normal conversation after that point. Dean’s own embarrassment at being caught out, and his entirely amusing reaction had certainly helped.

It had all gone far better than he ever could’ve expected after those initial rocky moments. Not that he’d ever objected to any of Mildred’s other hires, but he mentally thanked her repeatedly for hiring Dean. It was easy to see why Mildred chose him out of all the applicants for the position. Dean’s easygoing charm and obvious care for the students he hadn’t even met yet were plain to see. The hints of self-consciousness and shyness did nothing to diminish his charm. Cas had to scold himself several times over the few minutes they chatted, every time he realized his behavior was veering toward flirting. He’d never have heard the end of it if he’d driven Dean to quit over a harassment claim on his first day.

After learning a little more about Dean, how he’d picked up his entire life to move halfway across the country to be near his brother, Cas felt a strange rush of euphoria. Maybe he’d just let his anticipation over talking to Impala later that night influence his feelings, but he was overcome by a strange combination of excitement and longing that nearly overwhelmed him. It had been enough of an emotional kick for him to remember that Dean was not Impala, and that it was not strange for new coworkers to share details about their lives with one another. Cas had probably been spending too much time on the internet, and too little time interacting with other people in real life over the summer break. He forcibly reminded himself that this was what proper human interaction was supposed to be like, and deflated a bit at the reminder that the novelty of meeting Dean didn’t change the fact that his life was still effectively split in half.

Dean knew nothing of Cas’s secret fandom life, and he was determined to keep it that way. Never the twain should meet.

He trudged back to the library with that gloomy reminder weighing on him. How could he ever hope to explain this thing he felt so passionate about, this show that had essentially become his full-time hobby, to anyone who knew him in real life? What would someone like Dean think of his endless catalogue of meta and fanfiction for an obscure little television show he’d probably never even heard of?

Come to think of it, what would Impala think of his real life? If he discovered that the infamous FicFeathers was actually a 31-year-old elementary school librarian, master of the Dewey Decimal System renowned for giving 9-year-olds the best book recommendations, who hadn’t so much as been on a date since college, would Impala think any less of him? Would that be a turn off? Cas stopped in his tracks in the hallway just outside the library and laughed out loud before continuing inside. He didn’t even know if Impala was interested in him at all. For all he knew, Impala was happily married with a gaggle of kids, or even grandkids. He didn’t think so, judging from what he knew of the man’s online persona and their conversations over the years, but knowing how much he’d hidden of himself online, it was something he couldn’t discount.

Cas made it through the rest of his stack of new books and set them all on a rolling cart to be shelved tomorrow. He couldn’t face another moment of Amelia Bedelia and the mouse who wanted a cookie staring him in the face, and needed to get out and feel like a grownup again before he’d be ready to talk with Impala. He shut down his computer, turned off the lights and headed out. He didn’t even bother walking past Dean’s office to say goodnight.

He drove to his favorite little Irish pub and ordered a shepherd’s pie and a beer. It was about as different an environment he could find from his bright, cheerful library, and it always helped him relax. If he kept Impala waiting a little longer while he shed the burdens of his day job, it would be worth it. By the time he’d paid his check and headed home, he was ready to face whatever Impala would bring him.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean swung by the little Cuban restaurant Charlie had recommended to him the week before and picked up dinner. He didn’t want to have to cook when all his thoughts were so focused on his fic, and Feathers’ reaction to it. It was only a little bit dumb, how nervous he was about this. Feathers had read his stuff before, knew his style, and was always supportive and encouraging with him. Hell, the last time Feathers beta read for him, he’d left him detailed reactions that had left Dean punching the air, elated that his words had the power to bring out all the right emotions in a writer he admired as much as Feathers. But Dean was a bundle of frayed nerves anyway.

He ate half his sandwich on the way home, and the other half while he changed out of his dress shirt and pants into a comfy old t-shirt and a worn old pair of flannel pants with the Unnatural logo printed all over them. By the time he sat down with his laptop and got Discord open, he was ready to settle in on the sofa with a beer to start his own editing just as soon as he scoped out the writer chat channel.

All the usual suspects were around. As he scrolled, he saw a few messages from Charlie, some from another writer he occasionally swapped fic with to beta for each other, but even scrolling back as far as the messages he’d posted that morning, he saw no other posts from Feathers. Dean tried not to feel disappointed about that. It’s not like he’d posted anything all day, either. Maybe Feathers was just waiting for him to post first? Hell, maybe he was still stuck in traffic on his way home from work. He had all night, and Dean was determined not to waste it feeling like Feathers had thought better of his offer and was now avoiding him. Dean watched the chat continue, with Charlie talking another author through some detail of their fic about LARPing, and patiently sipped at his beer. He eventually set the bottle down and poked his head into the chat.

 **Impala67** : I’m finally home and ready to edit

 **QueenOfMoons** : Welcome to the party!

She jumped over into their DM’s without missing a beat. She was clearly eager for all the dirt on his first day at work, and of course that wasn’t information for the public channel.

 **QueenOfMoons** : So did you fit in with all the other kids, or do I have to go down to the school and give anyone a good talking to?

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been getting the school jokes from Sam for so long they just rolled over him at this point.

 **Impala67** : Yeah, I don’t work with anyone wearing a Serial Killer: Ask Me How! button, so I think I’m safe for now.

 **QueenOfMoons** : Well, that’s good, if boring. Are you already looped into the school gossip machine? Discovered who’s got a secret vendetta, or who’s got a clandestine janitor’s closet romance brewing? Come on, this is the sort of thing I always imagined the teachers got up to when I was a kid. You gotta serve up all the dirt.

 **Impala67** : What the hell kinda school did you go to? And no, I barely remember all their names yet. Uh, but I think a couple of the teachers are actually couples. 

**QueenOfMoons** : Ooh, office romance! Swoon!

 **Impala67** : Pretty sure two of them are actually married to each other. Their last names are both Fitzgerald, anyway.

 **QueenOfMoons** : Like Zelda and F. Scott! Gotcha. You’ll have to keep me up to date with their drama. But are there any single hotties you have your eye on yet? There’s gotta be at least a little eye candy. Every teacher can’t possibly be a 60-year-old granny. Or an orc.

Dean had been flipping back and forth between his conversation with Charlie, the main Pinefest author chat channel, and his depressingly quiet direct messages with FicFeathers. It gave him something to do while Charlie was typing, but it wasn’t really doing anything for his anxiety levels since Feathers still wasn’t online. So when he switched back to read Charlie’s message, it hit him like a sack of wet cement. He had a momentary flashback to the incident in the library, and it left him feeling nearly as jittery and unsettled as his first meeting with Cas had. It was a bit of emotional whiplash, and he debated whether or not to mention the sexy librarian to her at all. It wasn’t just the fear she’d immediately begin applying every fanfic trope to their practically nonexistent working relationship, but Charlie knew Feathers, too. It’s not like they had an actual relationship outside of the fandom, but after Dean had built up the potential for maybe breaking through some of Feathers’ walls, it still felt almost like cheating to bring up the guy at school he’d only known for a day.

“This is why I haven’t had a date in two years,” Dean muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He sighed and admitted he was being a fucking dumbass, holding out hope for something that probably never had a chance in the first place.

 **Impala67** : Well there’s a library, so there’s a hot librarian.

 **QueenOfMoons** : For real? That’s just too perfect. Tell me everything.

 **Impala67** : Are you already making notes for a school library AU based on my life?

Charlie laughed at him, but Dean suspected that was exactly what she was doing. He spent the next few minutes satisfying her curiosity anyway, but she’d gone from gently teasing him to actually asking some good questions and being generally encouraging about getting to know Cas better, even if nothing romantic ever came of it.

 **Impala67** : Surprised to hear you say that, Charles.

 **QueenOfMoons** : You’re one of the best writers I know, Dean. OF COURSE you need to be friends with the nearest librarian. It’s just logical. You love words, HE loves words. It’s a match made in heaven. Even if it’s just as friends. You need some real life friends, if you’re still gonna refuse to come LARPing with me, or even come to one of our Unnatural watch parties.

 **QueenOfMoons:** So no hints on if he even swings in your direction?

Dean stopped and considered that for a second. He’d done his damnedest to keep their conversations friendly yet still professional. He’d pushed down the urge to flirt, but he wasn't sure how well he succeeded at that. If they’d been casually chatting at a bar, he might assume Cas’s demeanor had been at least _interested_ , if not directly flirting. But they hadn’t been at a bar, and he was pretty sure the entire interaction had been nothing more than Cas offering him a warm welcome to their shared work environment. It would’ve been presumptuous to assume anything else after only a ten minute chat.

Knowing the sort of family atmosphere the administration liked to foster among the employees, Dean had to assume Cas would’ve been just as kind and helpful to anyone in his position. He sighed and let his head drop back on the sofa cushions for a minute before responding to Charlie. It could’ve just been the emotional rollercoaster of his first day at a new job, but all the anticipation he’d talked himself into had finally fully drained away, leaving him feeling exhausted and disappointed in himself for his emotional overreaching with both Feathers and Cas.

 **Impala67** : No, we just met, Charlie. It’s not like they list sexual orientation on elementary school staff ID badges.

 **QueenOfMoons** : Yikes, touchy. Sorry if I hit a nerve there Imp.

Dean felt bad the second he’d sent the message. It wasn’t Charlie’s fault his love life was in a slump. He was as pathetic as the fictional not-quite-couple he spent so much of his life writing fanfic about just to make them confess their feelings and kiss already.

 **Impala67** : Sorry, just feeling like I’ve got about as much chance at a relationship as NealEm going canon this season. Might as well write your fic based on my pathetic life. Use it for the pinefest. We can all have a good cry over it.

 **QueenofMoons** : LOL. You think I won’t? As soon as I’m done editing this story, I AM ON IT. And I promise to give them a very happy ending. Ooh, I’d had an idea for a two-person love triangle anyway, and I think I can make this setup work perfectly for it.

 **Impala67** : Just don’t make them fuck in the school library. I have to work there, and that’s something I don’t think I could unsee

Charlie was already typing a reply to that, doing her damnedest to cheer him up as usual, when he got another notification. Feathers was finally online, and he hadn’t even started editing yet. He ignored Charlie’s message for now and camped out in the Pinefest main author’s chat looking for the new message from Feathers, before realizing he’d sent it in the DM’s. 

Dean couldn’t even look at the new message yet. He’d been sitting there for half an hour waiting for it, and now that it was there he was almost too anxious to even read it. Dean spent a quiet minute chugging the rest of his beer and thinking of half a dozen other things he probably could do instead of sitting there with his computer on his lap staring at a glowing red message notification icon. He could start laundry. He could ignore the internet and actually edit his fic. He could call Sam and tell him about his day. On second thought, he decided he wasn’t quite _that_ desperate for a distraction, and finally went back to read Charlie’s last message.

 **QueenOfMoons** : Fine, if you insist. There will be hanky panky in the janitor’s closet, just fyi. You can think of it as my dating plan and instruction manual, if you want.

 **Impala67** : Great, fine. Not sure I want credit as the inspiration for the fic or not, at this rate. But Feathers just messaged me, and I gotta get editing this thing. You wanna see the draft when I’m done with edits?

 **QueenOfMoons** : Oooooh! Are you gonna tell him all about your sexy librarian? If you do, let him know I’ve got dibs on the novelization.

 **Impala67** : He doesn’t even know my real name, let alone where I work. I won’t be telling him squat. It’s all yours.

 **QueenOfMoons** : Good. And good luck with giving him your unedited draft. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirting with him, too. Ohmygod, are you flirting with him? Is that what’s going on here? He never volunteers to read unedited drafts. Is this some sort of weird mating ritual? Should I be recording this for science?

For the second time in twenty minutes, Dean felt like he’d tripped over his whole entire keyboard and faceplanted on the screen. Charlie had been watching them chat back and forth for several years now, and they’d often fake-flirted with each other enough that the occasional newbie would mistake them for a couple. Nothing had ever come of it, of course, because how much can you actually flirt with intent when neither party is willing to step out from behind the veil of anonymity? It was entirely harmless fun, and everyone knew it. Or he thought they’d known it. Dean had been wishing it could be something more for so long now that he knew if nothing had come of it already, the chances only grew slimmer as time went on. Just like the characters on the show he wrote about, pining away for each other for years and never letting it go anywhere. Well, that’s what fanfic was for, right?

Rather than let it frustrate him, Dean had always tried to enjoy their online friendship for what it was, until that morning. After years of resigning himself to accepting their relationship as it stood and consigning his unrequited feelings to his fic fodder file, he’d actually let himself hold on to the thinnest sliver of hope after Feathers’ offer, and he was already kicking himself over it. He admitted it to himself; he was terrified to check that message. But he wasn’t gonna let Charlie know it.

 **Impala67** : Yeah, well, he must be pretty fucking hard up for reading material. Either that or he needs a good laugh.

 **QueenOfMoons** : Dean. We’ve talked about this. You’re an incredible writer and your first drafts look more like my third drafts.

 **Impala67** : Because I edit everything twice before I show it to you, duh.

 **QueenOfMoons** : DEAN. Stop. He knows what a first draft looks like, and he VOLUNTEERED. Trust him, okay? He’s not gonna suddenly hate you because you made a typo. Now go, talk to your man and tell him I said hi. And don’t get all weird and self-deprecating. It’s not a good look on someone as good looking as you are.

 **QueenOfMoons:** And yes, I know he has no idea what you look like, but if he did, he’d be falling down at your feet. Okay? Good talk.

Dean couldn’t help but laugh at that. Charlie was always good at cheering him up.

 **Impala67** : Thanks, Charlie.

 **QueenOfMoons** : :winky face:

So this was it. He was really gonna link Feathers to his entirely unedited draft. And he was really gonna use it as an excuse to test the waters on opening up about who he really was. Even if Feathers still wanted to keep all his walls in place, Dean had mentally committed himself to pushing the boundary. If he actually went through with it, it would be all or nothing, right? He was either gonna walk out of this with a much closer friend, or with nothing. After three years, he hoped it wouldn’t be nothing. He was just so tired of feeling so entirely alone.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered under his breath, and clicked over to chat with Feathers.

 **FicFeathers** : Hello, Impala. I’m finally home, as well. You mentioned you were editing tonight, so I hope I haven’t interrupted your flow.

Dean laughed at that and picked up his beer to take a sip, only to discover it was empty. He debated going for another, both to steady his nerves and work up the courage to push their boundaries a bit. Or maybe just to put off the inevitable for a few more minutes. He dismissed the idea, scolding himself. If nothing else, he did try to stick to the whole write drunk, edit sober rule as much as possible. And he had a hell of a lot of editing to get through. He took a deep breath and started typing.

 **Impala67** : Hey, Feathers. I haven’t started yet. The queen was giving me a pep talk. She says hi, by the way.

It was all true, at least. Feathers didn’t have to know exactly what Charlie had been trying to talk him into. Feathers was already typing out a reply, and despite a number of new message notifications popping up in the general chat channel, Dean sat there staring at the screen until Feathers was done.

 **FicFeathers** : I hope I haven’t pressured you into an uncomfortable situation, asking to read your story this morning before you were ready to show it to anyone. I assure you, I’m happy to wait until you’re satisfied with it. But I won’t rescind the offer I made to beta for you, whether that happens to be now, or not.

Dean sat there rereading the message. He’d sort of panicked when Feathers made the offer, and agreed to it without really thinking what that would mean. He’d been on several trips around the entire emotional spectrum between then and now, both at work and again while chatting with Charlie. He’d made his peace with it, in more ways than Feathers could know. And right now, he was keeping the man waiting. Dean copied the link to his fic document, just in case, and started typing his reply.

 **Impala67** : It’s all good. I was kinda shocked you volunteered yourself like that. It’s about as rough as a draft can get. I don’t even know if it would make good reading. Are you really that stuck on your own fic?

 **FicFeathers** : Not stuck, so much as wondering if it was a good idea in the first place. I think it’s nearly done. In fact, it might be completely done now, as soon as I type up the last scene.

 **Impala67** : LOL did it come to you while you were driving home or something?

 **FicFeathers** : As a matter of fact, it did. I’d thought the final chapter would be… bigger, I guess. But I think this will work as an ending.

 **Impala67** : Well, do you wanna go write it down right now before you lose it, and then swap? Even trade, beta for beta?

It was a pretty bold suggestion, Dean realized the second he sent the message. As far as he knew, Feathers had a similar policy to his own when it came to anyone else reading his stories. They might bounce ideas off one another, or work out minor plot points together sometimes, but even he had never seen one of Feathers’ first drafts. Dean reassured himself about his plan to push the boundaries, and was encouraged the moment the next message appeared.

 **FicFeathers** : Are you sure? You won’t be consumed with editing your own draft?

 **Impala67** : I could probably use a break, too. I haven’t read anything good in the last few weeks, trying to get it done. And I’m more than a little curious about what you wrote. Gotta admit, I wouldn’t mind a sneak peek at the next FicFeathers masterpiece.

 **FicFeathers** : I don’t know if I’d call it a masterpiece. It’s more experimental than anything I’ve written before. I’m concerned it won’t feel authentic.

 **Impala67** : You’ve written a lot of experimental fic, and all of it has been awesome. That one that everyone thought was an AU but it was just a pocket dimension and the whole thing had actually been canon? That was pretty out there, but it worked. Plus there was a lot of awesome cake. What’s this one about?

 **FicFeathers** : It’s canon, but also alternate universe again. Similar to that universe where they were actors.

 **Impala67** : Ooh, you gonna give the guys another shot at acting?

 **FicFeathers** : No, this time I’ve sent them to a fan convention, but Neal and Emmanuel, when they arrive in that universe, it’s to discover the actors who play them are actually married in real life.

 **Impala67** : Wait, so they have to pretend to be married in front of an audience for a whole weekend?

 **FicFeathers** : Essentially, yes.

 **Impala67** : That sounds awesome, actually.

 **FicFeathers** : It’s only now occurred to me that I have no idea what your story is about, either.

 **Impala67** : Wow, Feathers, you were really ready to read my unedited draft with no idea what you were even signing up for?

 **FicFeathers** : That does make me sound desperate, I suppose, but I do trust your storytelling. I can’t imagine you’ve suddenly lost your gift for crafting an entertaining tale.

Dean sat there staring at that comment for a moment. It was almost as disorienting as that dream he’d had where Robert Plant and Freddie Mercury showed up in the audience at karaoke night at the Roadhouse and gave him a standing ovation for singing the alphabet song. Working in early childhood education could do weird things to the brain, but Feathers’ compliment had truly knocked him for a loop. He eventually shook himself out of his shock and debated brushing it off, but he was trying to break down barriers, not erect new ones. Dean replied with a simple _thanks, that means a lot._

They spent a few minutes discussing their respective stories. Dean described the plot of his fic he’d been working on for months, his passion for the story only doubling after the show recently teased an episode in the upcoming season where Neal would wear a pair of cowboy boots. It had long been canon that Neal had a love of all things cowboy, much like Dean’s own fascination with the old west. He’d casually mentioned it to Feathers, and was surprised to learn that Feathers himself had a bit of experience with horses. It was more than Dean had ever known about him before, and he silently awarded himself a point. He didn’t want to push too hard, though, so instead of pressing the issue, he used their newfound common ground to ignite Feathers’ interest in his story. For this fic, he brought them into a non-magical modern setting. Dean hadn’t been able to shake the idea of Neal operating a horse ranch and Em still somehow falling out of the sky into his life.

Their conversation began to run away from them, lost in their mutual appreciation and excitement over reading something new by their respective favorite author. By the time Feathers explained how he intended to tie up his loose threads, Dean was ready to read the thing already.

 **Impala67** : Write first, then read. So go write the last chapter. As soon as you’re ready, I’ll send you the link to mine. We can both be equally traumatized over submitting to the ordeal of being seen for our shitty first drafts.

Dean sat and waited for a few minutes for Feathers to reply. He’d started to worry that he’d stepped too far over the line too soon, or maybe Feathers was insulted by his suggestion that anything he’d write might be shitty, even as a rough draft. All rough drafts were just that-- _rough_. It was right there on the label. Dean had been about to apologize and try to patch things up when Feathers finally started typing again.

 **FicFeathers** : It hardly seems fair you’ll get an hour or two head start on editing yours, but I accept your terms nonetheless.

 **Impala67** : That’s mighty big of you, Feathers.

 **FicFeathers** : Please just tell me Neal doesn’t spend the entire fic talking like John Wayne.

Dean had to laugh at that. He shook his head and assured Feathers he only busted out the cowboy talk on rare occasions, and mostly for humorous effect. Or at least he’d hoped so.

It was already getting late by the time Feathers signed off, but Dean left Discord open in the background knowing he’d be done with his draft soon. He wanted to be ready for Feathers the second it was. Somehow their conversation had convinced Feathers his ending was perfect, and he’d been sure it would only take a few short pages to bring it all to a close.

Dean already felt like his resolution to gradually open up to Feathers was beginning to pay off, and decided to reward himself for the minor success with another beer. It wasn’t like he needed to be on his A game for editing. He was just playing a waiting game. He still opened his fic and got to work, hammering the first few paragraphs into a more polished shape before taking his first sip. For some reason, that first page was always the part of any of his stories that went through the most drastic changes from draft to draft.

Once he got through the opening scene, things went a lot more quickly. A typo here, a reworked clunky sentence there, and Dean had made it halfway through chapter two when the Discord notification beep sounded and jarred him out of his groove. He glanced at the time and was surprised to see it was near eleven. He’d fallen out of the habit of waking up to his alarm clock over the summer, but he still needed to be up by six to get to school on time in the morning. He wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved that he wouldn’t be awake to see any notifications from Feathers making comments on his fic, or disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to start reading Feathers’ story until tomorrow evening. He marked his place in his own editing with a hastily typed comment that he hoped Feathers would find amusing ( _edit break: beyond here be dragons_ ), and psyched himself up to check the message.

 **FicFeathers** : I’ve finished. It’s always such a strange feeling to arrive at the end of the words, and suddenly the story is just done.

Dean laughed. He knew exactly what Feathers meant. He’d experienced it himself the night before.

I **mpala67:** Yeah, it’s like a roller coaster. Finally get up to speed and things just flow, and then you get to the end and lurch to a stop and it’s all over. Sometimes it hits you out of the blue, but you just know it’s done and there’s nothing more to write.

 **FicFeathers:** I’ve never been on a roller coaster, but that sounds about right.

Dean sat there blinking at the screen. He should’ve been congratulating Feathers on his draft. He should’ve been making an apology for not having time to start reading it tonight. He should’ve been getting himself to sleep because he was already gonna regret the late night when his alarm went off in the morning. Dean couldn’t do any of those things, though, because Feathers had never been on a roller coaster.

 **Impala67:** Dude, what? How did you reach adulthood and never once go to an amusement park?

 **FicFeathers** : I’ve never had the occasion.

 **Impala67** : Not even the dinky ones at a county fair or anything? 

**FicFeathers** : I take it you’re now obligated to demand that I seek out the nearest amusement park and experience this for myself?

 **Impala67** : Well, yeah. I mean, it’s one of those things everyone’s gotta do at least once, right? Just to say you did it, and know what it feels like.

 **FicFeathers** : I’ll settle for imagining it feels at least a little like reaching the end of a draft for now, if that’s acceptable to you. It was your metaphor, after all.

 **Impala67** : Touche.

 **FicFeathers** : Perhaps more importantly, I have a link for you, if you have one for me.

 **Impala67** : It’s unfortunately about time for me to hit the hay. I gotta work tomorrow. I’m gonna open it up the second I walk back through my door tomorrow night, though.

 **FicFeathers** : Oh dear, yes. I believe I’m in a similar position regarding reading your fic.

 **Impala67** : LOL so if you spend all your free time editing on the sly tomorrow at work maybe you’ll get as far as I did tonight editing mine.

 **FicFeathers** : If only. I even have a lunch appointment tomorrow. I’m sorry to say you’ll likely be reading an entirely unedited draft. If it proves too burdensome, I’ll delay reading yours to make an editing pass through it, but I do edit as I write, so hopefully it isn’t entirely unreadable.

 **Impala67** : Feathers, I don’t think you have it in you to produce something unreadable.

 **FicFeathers** : That’s kind of you to say, but I won’t hold you to that assessment until tomorrow evening.

Dean sat for a moment, finishing the last of his beer and setting the bottle down. This was it, their moment of reckoning. He put it off for a few more seconds while he copied the link to his fic to the clipboard again just to be sure he was sending Feathers to the right place. He’d already learned more about Feathers in one short evening than he’d known before. Maybe this was really what they needed to finally open up to one another. There was officially no going back now.

 **Impala67** : Yeah, well, just remember when you’re reading mine, this was your idea. We’re both pretty much in the same boat here, so I’m not about to go setting it on fire.

 **FicFeathers** : Ha! That’s true. I really should be getting to sleep, though, so I’ll just give you this before I lose my nerve. I’ll let you know when I start reading yours, as well.

The link came through, and Dean resisted clicking it just yet. He still had to reciprocate, in all fairness. He pasted in the link and added a few lines.

 **Impala67** : Okay then, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Now I gotta remind myself I can’t stay up all night reading.

 **FicFeathers** : Thank you, Impala. I suppose I’ll be talking with you tomorrow night. Good night, and I hope you have a pleasant day at work tomorrow.

 **Impala67** : Yeah, you too. I hope you actually get a few minutes to yourself. Sounds like you’ve got a busy one. Sleep well.

And with that, Dean’s tenuous patience ran out and he clicked the link. Feathers’ fic opened up to him and he saw the title, Revenge of the Subtext. Dean laughed, knowing exactly what the title referred to, now that Feathers had already given him a general overview of the story. He knew if he looked at it much longer, he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to start reading it, but his curiosity, for once in his life, saved him. He had to know if Feathers had taken a peek at his story, too. He clicked over to the other tab, and there he was, his cursor blinking right at the top of Dean’s fic. Dean jumped back over to Discord to remind Feathers he should be sleeping instead of reading, but found Feathers already there typing up a message.

 **FicFeathers** : Harrison 335. You named the family horse ranch after the Mustang’s horsepower? Cute. :)

 **Impala67** : Yeah, well, it was the working title of the draft so I wouldn’t forget what I named the ranch while I was writing. You’re Anonymous Unicorn, by the way.

 **FicFeathers** : Am I? I suppose that’s more flattering than Anonymous Dumbo Octopus.

 **Impala67** : Hey, you take that back. Those little fuckers are adorable. It’s taking everything in me not to go read right now, but I gotta get some z’s or I’m gonna be worthless at work tomorrow.

 **FicFeathers** : I’m facing the same dilemma. I think it’s probably safest for me to sign off now, as well. As soon as I’m home tomorrow night, though, I’ll be diving into your fic. The anticipation will get me through the day.

 **Impala67** : Same. Can’t wait. Talk to you tomorrow. Night.

 **FicFeathers** : Indeed. Good night to you, too.

Dean closed his laptop so he wouldn’t be tempted to start reading, and got up from where he’d begun to become one with the sofa. He chucked his bottle in the recycling bin, turned out the light, and headed for bed, riding the high of anticipation for tomorrow night. As he stood brushing his teeth, and the adrenaline rush began to pass, he remembered he had good things to look forward to at work, as well.

Cas had promised him a conversation over lunch, and he couldn’t really complain about an excuse to get to know the man a little better. He might not have the history and mutual fandom passions and friendship he’d already established with Feathers, but Cas did have a face and a name and a life story he was willing to share with Dean. And it was definitely a face worth looking at.

Dean climbed into bed, checked his alarm was set, and turned out his light. Lying there in the dark, he only felt a little bit like he was already cheating on both Feathers and Cas. The secrecy that split his life in half had never felt like more of a burden. He sighed and rolled over, punching down his pillow, expecting it wouldn’t be long before his respective hidden halves came to light and drove both men out of his life anyway. What would a sweet elementary school librarian want with a guy who spent all his free time thinking about a horror genre tv show, and what would someone like Feathers want with a guy who helped 6-year-olds get over their anxiety about math class for a living?

As he drifted off, Dean couldn’t help but wonder if this was exactly how Neal felt on Unnatural, living half his life in secrecy as a hunter while trying to fit in with the rest of society, no one ever really knowing all of him. It seemed a terribly lonely way to go through life.


	4. Chapter 4

Cas had made himself comfortable and settled in with a mug of tea and his laptop fully anticipating a long evening of quiet distraction and reading. He’d finally worked out the details for the end of his own fic, even though he still needed to write it all down. Any other night he would’ve ignored everything else until he’d finished typing it all out, but he’d made the offer to Impala, and it seemed rude to rescind it only hours later. His thoughts flashed back, unwarranted, to Dean muttering _write first, then read_ in the library that afternoon.

The phrase had caught him off guard then, just as the memory of it did now.

It had become something of a credo in the Pinefest message boards. He wasn’t sure who had employed the admonition first, but it had caught on quickly. QueenOfMoons was particularly fond of using it as a supportive reminder for everyone to hit their word count goals when the chat devolved into sharing fic links as a means of procrastination. So many people had passed through the boards over the years it was impossible to know where it may have originated. It could’ve come from a tweet about writing advice, or an article about good writing habits, for all he knew. How likely was it to be a concept or phrase exclusive to their little fandom writing challenge?

It was ridiculous to assume that Dean Winchester participated in the Pinefest just because he’d used that phrase. The man had been struggling to compose a two minute speech, after all. How likely was it that he not only was a fan of Unnatural, but that he would devote his free time to writing 20,000 word fanfiction pieces for it? Dean had offered to explain _sports_ to him. Cas shook his head and sighed at himself for even letting himself consider such a wildly unfounded notion, and did his best to file his budding interest in Dean away for further consideration over lunch the next day. Right then, all his focus was for Impala and the story he’d been eagerly anticipating all day.

And then that plan went right out the window.

He had to admit that chatting with Impala was nice. He’d been working on his fic in secrecy for so long that just getting a chance to talk about it with someone else had been a relief. And for Impala to sound so enthusiastic and interested in the story that had filled Cas with doubts for the last few months had been a major bonus.

Cas realized at some point during their conversation that they’d both begun to let their guard down around each other. He’d long ago grown tired of the charade of policing his every word in fandom to keep every last bit of his identity secret. It exhausted him sometimes, but he’d persisted with it anyway. With Impala, that seemed to be changing at what would be an alarming rate if it were anyone else. Maybe his talk with Dean that afternoon, and his promise to share some of his life story with the veritable stranger the next day over lunch had affected him more than he’d realized.

Any other day, Impala’s casual reminder of their unofficial motto during their chat would’ve rolled right by him. But this was the third time today that the simple, well worn phrase had knocked Cas off balance.

He’d promised Impala he’d let him know the minute he was done with his final chapter, but it still took him a few minutes to shift gears and get back into the right frame of mind to write. He’d begun the chapter the night before, thinking it would take at least a few thousand more words to finish, but in the end it had needed fewer than a thousand. In this case, simpler was better. He already had a sequel in the works, after all. There was no reason to drag this denouement out any longer.

Cas read over his final chapter, tweaked a few sentences and corrected a typo or two. When he was satisfied his draft was as good as he could make it without a complete editing pass, he copied the link and went back to let Impala know. The man had almost derailed their entire conversation to discuss roller coasters, of all things. He’d had to stop himself from telling Impala about the time his uncle had taken him skydiving as a child. It hadn’t been his choice, but that hadn’t stopped Uncle Marv from shoving him out of the plane anyway. He insisted it would build character, but to a 12-year-old who’d only gone up in the plane with him because he’d promised him an adventure, the only thing it had built was a resentment and distrust of his uncle for the rest of his life.

The experience, though, had been emotionally akin to what Impala had described. Except the main emotion he’d felt the entire time he’d fallen had been sheer terror. There’d been a definitive stop at the end when he’d hit the ground and tumbled across a field, but there’d been very little he’d found amusing about the entire ordeal.

And yet, for whatever strange reason he couldn’t explain, he’d thought that Impala might understand. Not only that, for the first time in his adult life, he actually _wanted_ to tell someone about it. He still hesitated, though. It was late, they were both tired and had to be up early in the morning. And Cas was still not sure just how far he was willing to open himself up to anyone online. He spared one slightly hysterical moment to think maybe it was something he could tell Dean about over lunch, before shaking that thought off and sending Impala the link to his story. The second Impala reciprocated, Cas eagerly clicked through and read the opening lines. He squeezed his eyes shut and tabbed back over to Discord before he succumbed to the urge to keep reading. He’d earned it, after all, finishing his entire draft. He wrote, so now he should get to read.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. In a perfect world where he didn’t have to hold down a job to pay the bills, maybe he could devote all his time to writing and reading, but it had also been a very long day. He yawned, and a few tears ran down his cheek as he typed his final message to Impala. With the draft open on his laptop, he quietly shut the lid and set the computer aside.

“More like sleep first, then spend the majority of the day pretending to be an adult, then read,” he muttered under his breath as he got ready for bed.

Morning came all too soon. Cas shot a couple of longing glances toward his laptop as he waited for his morning coffee to brew, but he resisted the temptation to open it. There was nothing worse than reading the opening paragraphs of a fic and then getting pulled away. Someone in the chat had once referred to it as _ficcus interruptus_. He vaguely recalled the term having specifically applied to an untimely interruption while reading a hot and heavy scene, but the same sentiment applied in this case. It wasn't like he could call out sick on only the second day of the year.

In all honesty, Cas didn’t want to call out. He’d told Impala that he had an appointment that would keep him from being able to edit on his lunch break. He only felt a little guilty that he’d made it sound like it was a work obligation or a business lunch. For all his instinctive reservations over sharing his life history with people he’d only just met, Cas was looking forward to his promised conversation with Dean. If nothing else, that would be the one guaranteed bright spot in his day.

The morning passed quickly, and he’d nearly forgotten about his lunch date. He’d been in the back room creating computer entries for the rest of the new books he intended to spend the afternoon shelving when a knock on the door frame startled him out of his groove. Cas twisted around so fast he almost unbalanced his chair, and had to catch himself on the edge of the desk or he would’ve landed on the floor. He blinked up to discover Dean trying not to grin at the ridiculous sight he surely made.

“I hear if you unfocus your eyes and slowly move it away, the barcodes eventually resolve into a picture of the inside of your eyelids,” Dean said, confusing Cas even more before he remembered their first meeting.

Cas affixed the barcode label he’d just generated to the last book on his stack, and laughed. “If my experience this morning is any indication, I think I have to agree with you.”

“How many of those have you done today?” Dean asked, pointing at the stack of freshly labeled books.

Cas swiveled in his chair, without nearly toppling out of it thank you very much, and waved his hand at the rolling cart behind him, filled with books. “So many.”

It was Dean’s turn to laugh. “Then I guess it’s time for you to take a break, huh? We’re back on regular cafeteria food today, but a little birdie told me it’s burgers and tater tots. I don’t know if it’s possible for a school cafeteria to screw up tater tots.”

“Not this school, anyway,” Cas replied, standing up and stretching out his back. “It’s one of the benefits of working at a private school. Mildred makes sure the food served is more than edible. But I assure you, I have been the unfortunate witness to a tater tot abomination in the past.”

They walked to the cafeteria together, passing several other teachers coming and going to lunch. The relaxed social atmosphere of the previous day’s group lunch had all but dissipated. Most of the staff only stuck around long enough to claim their food and maybe swap a few quick words with whoever they ran into along the way before getting back to their respective classrooms. With orientation the next morning, everyone was too busy with final preparations to take too much time for casual socializing.

Dean and Cas went through the line and collected their burgers, tater tots, and little bowls of salted caramel pudding before silently agreeing to sit at a table in the far corner of the room. It put them out of the direct line for most of the foot traffic, and would mean they were less likely to be interrupted. Cas had gravitated toward the table knowing he’d promised Dean a bit of his life history. If he was really opening up about it, then the fewer distractions he’d need to account for, the easier it would likely be. As they sat and began eating, Cas quickly realized that Dean was more than capable of making it easier, too.

“So,” Dean said after tasting everything on his tray. “The tots are decent. But I gotta hear about this totbomination. How do you screw up a potato?”

Cas squinted at Dean for the strange portmanteau. “Totbomination?”

Dean just shrugged, and then grinned at him as he popped another tot in his mouth. Cas shook off the strange feeling that Impala would likely find it a humorous thing to say, in the unlikely event they were to ever discuss tater tots. Cas looked down at his tray, and then glanced around the cafeteria decorated with colorful, glittery banners welcoming the children back to school. He was unable to imagine Impala would ever have an interest in this glamorous and sophisticated side of his life. He sighed, dipped a tot in ketchup, and began telling Dean about his past.

“My college roommate was spectacularly inebriated one night, and confused the directions for cooking a bag of frozen tater tots with microwave popcorn. He kept pushing the button, restarting the microwave, not understanding why it wasn’t popping. By the time the smell of burning potatoes reached my room, they’d been reduced to a mushy, grainy pulp.”

“Ew. Okay, then. Good to know. Tots don’t pop.”

Cas grinned at the disgusted face Dean made, and nodded. “Our apartment smelled like melted plastic and burnt potato soup for weeks. It was years before I could stomach eating them again, but I trusted Mildred enough to give these a try when I started working here.” He dipped another one of the crispy golden nuggets in ketchup and popped it in his mouth.

Dean may have led in with an easy question, but Cas knew it wouldn’t stay that way. Yet, surprisingly, even the sorts of questions he’d only answer hesitantly with anyone else, he was discovering that he was easily opening up about with Dean. It was both unnerving, as well as refreshing. They quickly fell into a comfortable exchange.

“So did you go to college around here?” Dean asked, taking a bite of his burger and then making a satisfied humming noise.

Cas smiled at him, raising an eyebrow in response. “I got my masters in library science at the University of Maryland. I got a job working for a federal agency after I graduated, but I found the work rather soul crushing. I really wanted to work at a school, but I’d all but given up finding a position. For a while I was considering moving back home to Chicago and hoping for better luck when this job opened up.”

“Federal agency, huh? Can I ask, or is it one of those ‘I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you’ deals?” Dean asked with a smirk.

Cas shrugged. “I worked for the NSA, cataloging and filing reports. Don’t worry, your life will be spared,” he added with a moderately successful attempt at a wink that had Dean laughing out loud.

“Good to know. I’m good at keeping a secret, just so you know.”

“I don’t have any state secrets to spill, at any rate.”

Dean nodded at him, taking another bite of his burger before finally asking, “So why’d you want to work at a school?”

And the questions had officially grown harder. “Why does anyone want to work with young children? I’m sure you have your reasons as well.”

Dean sat back in his chair and looked at him for a minute before accepting the shift in conversation. “Yeah, I practically raised my little brother. We both struggled through school. Our dad moved us around a lot. We got decent grades, but we both got into some trouble along the way. Always the new kid, you know?”

Cas nodded. He might not have had a similar experience himself, but he could see where Dean’s story was going, and didn’t want to interrupt.

“We eventually landed at a school with a guidance counselor who gave a shit. It changed everything. She helped me work up the nerve to tell my dad that we needed to stay put, at least until Sammy graduated and could earn himself a college scholarship. I didn’t think I’d make it to college, but I wanted him to have a shot, at least.”

“You clearly did make it to college, yourself, though,” Cas said, and Dean’s cheeks went a bit rosy as he ducked his head.

“Yeah, I was working as a mechanic full time to pay the rent after dad bailed on us, taking as many classes as I could swing at the community college. By the time Sam graduated, he had a full ride to Stanford, and I had nearly enough credits for a bachelors degree. So I kept going. By the time Sam started law school, I’d been hired by the same school district that saved our lives. Pay it forward, right?”

“And now you’re here, working with young children, making sure they get the same opportunity you had,” Cas said, nodding. “That’s essentially the reason I wanted to work here. Or at any school. There’s nothing like sharing the joy of reading with a child. Books were my refuge growing up, and I’d always thought I wanted to write books for children, to share the wonder of the universe and the joy of reading.”

“So what’s stopping you?” Dean asked, sounding genuinely curious. Far more so than most people did when he mentioned writing in any capacity. The typical responses ranged from asking what he’d written and if they could buy his books, to informing him that they’d also like to write a book someday, when they had the time to sit down and actually do it, which Cas had learned from painful years of having this conversation with people meant they liked the _idea_ of writing a novel, but didn’t have a clue about the actual writing part of it. It wasn’t just a matter of sitting at a keyboard long enough to bang out a complete story. But that’s not what Dean had asked, and it left him feeling a bit floaty.

“It’s a long and boring story, but I learned through exhaustive personal experience that it’s practically impossible to make a full-time career out of writing. Commercial publishing is nearly as soul crushing as working as a librarian for the NSA.”

Dean let out a little laugh at that and went on in a quieter tone. “Yeah, I got a few friends who write professionally, and they’ve pretty much said the same. Writing’s great, but the business end of it sucks all the fun out of it.”

“Capitalism has a way of doing that,” Cas agreed.

“But you still write, right?” Dean asked, the innocuous question sounding strangely urgent despite his attempt to remain casual. “I mean, even if it’s just for yourself, or for fun, or whatever?”

“I think writing is part of who I am,” Cas replied, watching carefully as Dean’s shoulders relaxed and a soft smile came over his face. “I don’t know who I’d be if I didn’t write. As long as I don’t have to try to sell the resulting product.”

And there it was. That was officially the most he’d ever said about his writing aspirations to anyone he worked with. And definitely as close as he’d ever come to revealing what it was he actually did write to anyone outside the Unnatural fandom. Dean didn’t immediately ask him another question, though. He sat quietly finishing his lunch for a few minutes, like he was debating something with himself. Cas had thought the conversation might be finished. They were running out of time for their scheduled break, and their primary goal had been to eat lunch before having to get back to work. He was only a little bit disappointed that his dashed publishing dreams had been the conversation killer. And then Dean surprised him, leaning across the table and speaking quietly.

“I’ve been writing since I was a kid, too,” Dean said, glancing around to make sure they were truly alone before going on. “Used to make up stories to tell Sammy when he couldn’t sleep, and after a while he’d start asking for specific ones. I’d maybe change a few details, or rework the plot, and Sam started commenting on which versions he liked best. I guess he was my first editor. Or maybe my first critic.”

Dean paused to grin, and Cas couldn’t help but grin back.

“By the time I got to middle school, I’d started writing them down. Filled up all the notebooks dad bought me for school, and then didn’t have any paper to do my homework on. It, uh, led to some of my trouble in school until Mrs. Cartwright got a hold of me in high school. She was the first adult who was actually impressed with my stories instead of being pissed off that I’d been writing them instead of doing my homework.”

“As an education professional, I’m appalled that none of your prior teachers encouraged you to nurture your hobby,” Cas couldn’t help replying.

Dean shrugged and gave him a sad smile. “Don’t think I ever showed anyone else before her. I was too busy trying to maintain badass cred at a school I knew we’d be moving on from in a month or two to give a shit what the teachers thought of me. There was no way I was about to show them my notebook full of crazy stories I told my little brother to chase the boogeyman away.”

Cas made a little noise of understanding. “Then I’m grateful Mrs. Cartwright was able to reach out to you. The Edlund School is lucky to have you, and it seems we owe that at least in part to her.”

“You’ve barely even known me two whole days, Cas,” Dean said. “That’s kinda a snap judgment there.”

Cas bobbled his head back and forth and then shrugged. Dean may have been right, but the more Cas learned about him, the more he wanted to know. He felt lucky to have met Dean, regardless. That wasn’t necessarily the sort of thing he was prepared to say out loud, so he turned another of Dean’s questions back around on him.

“Do you still write?”

Dean blinked at him for a moment, but then nodded slowly. “I think writing’s a part of who I am, too. I don’t think I could stop if I tried.”

“And yet you never pursued it as a career?” Cas asked, curious now as they got up to return their trays. The custodian had begun wiping down the tables and stacking chairs. Lunch time had officially ended and they’d lingered well past their scheduled time anyway.

“Like I said, I got a lot of friends who’ve worked or still work in publishing. I write stories I wanna tell, not necessarily stories anyone else wants to read, and I’m good with that.”

Cas understood completely. It was ironically similar to his own approach to writing. Not that he’d ever share the details of that with Dean, or with any coworker for that matter. He’d found such a liberating joy in writing for himself, for fandom, that he wasn’t sure he could go back to trying to write for a specific market again. He didn’t want to have to factor in market saturation or commercial viability when he sat down to create fictional worlds. And he’d found an eager audience in a thriving and productive fandom. That was more than good enough for him.

It was with the same impetuousness he’d made a similar offer to Impala the previous day, but couldn’t stop himself from making again. Even if he didn’t really expect Dean to hand over his notebooks to a veritable stranger, he felt compelled to offer Dean even a tiny fraction of what his time in fandom had given him.

“Well, if you’re ever interested in having an audience, I’d happily read anything you’re willing to show me.”

Dean froze in his tracks as they approached the cafeteria door, and then caught up with him again. He took a deep breath and then grinned at Cas.

“So the speech I emailed you last night wasn’t enough to turn you off my writing permanently?”

It was an obvious joke. There had been nothing wrong with his speech, but it couldn’t hold a candle to a lifetime of creative writing.

“I hardly think those few lines of perfunctory dialogue are representative of your entire body of work, Dean,” Cas replied with a smirk. “Unless you generally write about elementary school orientation day speeches.”

Dean laughed at that as he followed Cas back into the library. “Yeah, no, not so much. I guess you’d call most of what I write fantasy, or maybe horror-adjacent, if you forced me to stick a label on it.”

Cas hummed in appreciation at that. “Most of what I write could be said to fall under that broad umbrella, as well.”

Dean stood there by the circulation desk for a moment, rocking back on his heels like there was something more he wanted to say. Cas watched him, appreciating the ease and speed with which they seemed to have grown comfortable with one another. He may have been slightly in awe of the entire situation. It was unexpected and refreshing, and not exactly something that had happened to him much in his life.

“So, I don’t really have anything pressing to handle for a bit,” Dean finally said. “You need some help shelving those books?”

Cas had been preparing for Dean to go back to his own office, leaving him with an unenviable amount of physical labor to undertake over the next few hours. But if Dean was offering to help, Cas wouldn’t turn it down. He couldn’t make it that easy on Dean, so he felt entitled to have a little bit of fun with him. He squinted critically at Dean.

“Are you avoiding your own work, or are you only interested in getting first choice of the new books for yourself?”

“You got me, Cas,” Dean said, his mouth twitching into a smile. “Actually, it’ll give me a chance to make myself familiar with the entire collection. It’s always good to know what the kids are reading.”

Cas gave him an approving nod and led the way back to his office, pulling out the cart of books and passing it to Dean. “Then who am I to stand in the way of a generous offer like that?”


	5. Chapter 5

Dean’s second morning at school had started out a lot easier than the first. He’d already jumped the hurdle of meeting all the other teachers, and even felt like he’d made a few friends. His scheduled lunch date with Cas occupied at least half his thoughts as he went through his usual morning routine. The other half were firmly fixated on the fic he’d have to wait until after school to read. He gave a last longing glance at his laptop as he headed out the door. It helped to remind himself that Feathers was probably facing the same frustration he was.

The morning went surprisingly smoothly, all things considered. He figured there were still parents holding back from contacting him until after meeting him at orientation, and his inbox would be flooded again on Friday afternoon, but for now he was grateful for the chance to better acquaint himself with all the nitty-gritty details of his job. Paperwork might be boring, but it was still important to know his way around the Edlund School’s filing system and chain of command.

It was Jody who popped in to say hi around eleven to see how he was getting on. She’d swung by the teacher’s lounge for a coffee refill, and stuck her head in to make sure he wasn’t drowning in all that paperwork. She glanced around the office, nodding with a pleased smile at the collection of books on display.

“It looks like you’re making yourself at home,” she said, wrapping her hands around her mug and studying the collection of action figures and little fidget toys now lining the top of his bookshelf.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure I could get a plant to grow in here, but I think it needs a plant.”

Jody nodded, smiling at him. “Bring a little life in, yeah. So you’re finding your way through everything?”

“Pretty much. Kinda nervous about orientation, but I think I got everything else under control for now.”

“Aw, you’ll be fine, Dean. Well, until all the parents have a chance to suss you out and get over whatever hesitation they might have about the new guy.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

Jody smiled at him and turned to leave again, but turned back just before she reached the door. “I hear it’s burgers and tots for lunch today, just fyi. I think after they spoiled us yesterday, they figured we needed a reminder that we work at an elementary school.”

“Nothing wrong with eating like a kid sometimes,” Dean assured her with a smile.

“Yeah, _sometimes_ being the operative word. Trust me, you’re gonna be sick of tots inside a month.”

Dean laughed. “Jody, you don’t know me very well yet.”

She smiled approvingly and left him to his work. There wasn’t really enough work for him to do if he intended to stretch this out for the rest of the day, and he almost regretted not bringing his laptop with him. He might not want to read Feathers’ fic at school where he could be interrupted at any time, but he certainly wouldn’t have minded a few more hours to edit his own story before Feathers would inevitably begin reading it. Not that his fic was particularly safe for work, but at least he already knew it backward and forward. Reading and editing it was a mechanical act at that point, entirely unlike the experience of reading a Feathers fic for the first time. He wanted to be able to fully enjoy that without having to control his reactions and maintain a professional demeanor.

He’d checked Discord on his phone a few times throughout the morning, and tried not to feel disappointed that the entire chat room was essentially dead. It was a lost cause to expect a thriving conversation on a Thursday morning. Feathers hadn’t posted anything since their conversation the night before, and he had to remind himself that the guy was probably having a miserably busy day at work. They had an appointment for later that night for Dean to look forward to, at least. Dean tried his best not to mentally keep referring to it as a _date._

After stumbling across a brief conversation about some behind the scenes photos one of the actors had tweeted that morning and having a good laugh at the antics they got up to on set, he decided he’d have to be the one to initiate the lunch sequence with Cas. Dean may have been in a work lull, but Cas was probably still drowning in books. He could absolutely make the first move. At least it would get his mind off his whole Feathers situation for a bit.

Dean wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but somehow over lunch their conversation had turned to writing. He’d been thrown off his usual game, sharing his life story with a veritable stranger for the first time in years. Maybe that’s how Cas managed to get through his armor.

Everyone he’d worked with in Kansas had known his story already. The plucky kid who overcame adversity to become the poster child for the local school system. His friends had all known him most of his life anyway, and even most of them had no idea he was a closeted writer. It just hadn’t seemed important to share the fact that he wrote, since he never intended to share his writing with any of them. Not even Sam had read any of his works since he switched from crafting bedtime stories to slash fiction. At least, he was pretty sure Sam was largely unaware of his fandom fame in that respect.

The writing was generally something Dean kept to himself, outside of the fandom and the cloak of anonymity the internet provided him. But then Cas had gone and talked about his own writing, and somehow Dean had fallen into a strange twilight zone somewhere between his fandom persona and his lifelong passion for telling stories

He’d made a lot of online friends with ties to publishing, but he couldn’t exactly share the details of his personal history with most of them. Just as he’d made a lot of friends in real life that he couldn’t share the details of his writing with. This one little sliver of the Venn diagram of his life seemed to overlap both of his carefully divided halves, and yet didn’t fit with either of them. At least it hadn’t until today.

Somehow, within the span of twenty minutes, Cas had found a way to delve right to that piece of him he didn’t share with anyone. It left him dazed and heady and strangely elated, as if he’d passed a bit of highly classified information to an agent of an enemy state. And Cas had been entirely unaware of that universe-shattering moment. He’d actually shown a perfectly normal amount of interest in Dean’s writing, as any other writer he’d ever talked shop with. He’d even offered to read anything Dean was willing to share with him.

After the flash of heart-stopping panic at the thought of sending Cas a link to his AO3 account subsided, Dean had done his best to brush off the offer with a joke. Someone like Cas, who’d given up on writing professionally to escape the grind of the publishing industry, wouldn’t be interested in reading his amateur fanfic. Especially not a guy who wanted to write fantasy novels for _kids_. Dean shuddered at the thought of Cas reading some of the more explicit scenes he’d written over the years. In the interest of salvaging what Dean hoped would become a solid friendship, if not anything more than that, he’d have to make sure he didn’t slip up like that again.

Volunteering to help Cas shelve books for the next few hours probably wasn’t the best way to go about avoiding the subject, he learned all too quickly. Everything had been going fine at first. Cas stayed in his office to finish scanning in the remaining new books, while Dean made his way through the nonfiction section, shelving and organizing as he went. The library had a great selection, and he’d been making a mental list of books he could recommend to kids who came to his office. Knowing they had a brand new assortment of dinosaur books, or a new atlas of the solar system, or even a new book about puppies would be useful information down the line. If walking a student down to the library to pick out a book also happened to give him a chance to see Cas more frequently, Dean absolutely would not object.

In fact, he found himself thinking just as much about the librarian as he was about the books he was shelving. By the time he’d reached the 700’s, Dean was convinced Cas had some sort of magical power to get under his skin. His blue eyes pierced through him with playful intensity, and whatever he saw inside Dean brought out a sly smile, like Cas knew just how much he’d shaken Dean’s whole world but wouldn’t dare reveal his secrets to anyone.

Maybe it was the whole NSA thing that had Dean thinking such ridiculous thoughts. Or maybe it was sitting on the floor and turning around to grab the next book off the cart only to come face to face… er… _backside_ , with Cas setting an armload of new books on the empty top shelf of the cart.

“Gah! I thought we talked about this sneaking thing,” Dean said as the books thunked down on the metal shelf. His heart was mostly thudding in shock, and not because he’d been gifted the vision of Cas’s ass from an optimal viewing angle.

Cas slowly turned around, looking down at him with that little grin again like he’d done all of that on purpose. The feeling was so powerful that Dean spared another moment to panic at the thought that maybe Cas could actually read his mind. It was bad enough thinking Cas had caught him staring at his ass when he could easily pass it off as his shock at discovering Cas standing behind him for the second time in as many days. Dean absolutely did not need him knowing the detailed description he filed away in his brain for later consideration, and possibly fanfic inspiration. It was certainly inspiring.

“Sneaking? Sneaking?” Cas replied with the same outrage Gollum had reacted with when he’d been caught sneaking. His smile spread into a full-on grin, and he sighed. “I just finished with the last box of new books, and it looks like you’re making quick progress out here.”

Dean glanced back at where he’d begun half an hour ago and was almost surprised to see how far he’d come. In fact, he was in nearly the same spot where Cas had startled him yesterday, only now he was down on the floor and feeling doubly attacked because of it.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been in a library before and learned how numbers work, so it wasn’t that hard,” he said, pointedly reaching for the next book and turning back to his shelving.

It was a flimsy cover, but at least it gave him a moment to reassemble his dignity and attempt to stop thinking about how well Cas’s jeans fit him. It wasn’t going well. And to think he’d warned Charlie about writing sexy library times. At this rate, Dean was already regretting having put that thought out into the universe as he struggled to rein in his own racing thoughts. He shelved the next book and then groaned at himself as he got to his feet. Cas still smiled at him, hands in his pockets as he watched Dean stretch his back.

“The bottom shelf is the worst, but the students don’t seem to mind crawling around on the floor,” Cas said sympathetically.

“Yeah, well they ain’t got quite as far to get back up again after,” Dean replied with a laugh.

Cas blinked at him for another moment before pulling his hands out of his pockets and fumbling for the next book on the cart. “You’d be surprised, actually, how many of my volunteers struggle to handle this part of the job.”

It was Dean’s turn to blink at him as Cas sidestepped around him to the next bank of shelves. He watched Cas’s hands glide across the top shelf and make a space for the new book, before Cas finally looked back at him. Dean wasn’t sure, but Cas looked a bit flustered as he tried to change the subject.

“It gets more difficult once school starts and a hundred children a day come through here rearranging everything, I suppose,” Cas said, reaching for another book.

Dean skipped over the next dozen or so books and pulled out a stack that needed to go on the next shelf over, just to give himself a little bit of space while Cas continued working where he’d left off before.

“Yeah, but without the kids, there’s no point in having a library anyway. Even if they just make more work for you. That’s right there in the job description, and you wanted to work with kids, right? Sorry to say I think you kinda signed up for it, dude.”

Cas laughed. “And I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

Dean smiled at the genuine warmth in Cas’s voice. They made quick work of the shelving, commenting on some of the new books as they went. It didn’t take long for Dean’s mouth to run out ahead of his brain again.

“So you still write fantasy stories for kids?” Dean asked as he reached the 800 section, and his thoughts inevitably turned back to writing.

Cas had been reaching for another book, just to his right in the 900’s, but froze for a moment before picking up the heavy tome on ancient architecture and cities and turning toward the shelves. Dean frowned as Cas avoided looking directly at him, and had to clear his throat before replying.

“I, um… no. No, what I write now is definitely not for children.” Cas took a deep breath and then turned back to him with a smile pasted on. “When I came to the realization that I’d likely never be able to make writing a full-time career and accepted this job, I established a firm boundary. I needed something in my life that didn’t revolve around children.”

Dean nodded, probably a bit too emphatically at that. He knew that feeling all too well. He loved tales about heroes vanquishing the monsters under their beds as much as the next guy, but he’d moved on from bedtime stories when he’d devoted his career to helping kids face their own real-life monsters for a living. Unnatural had inadvertently and unexpectedly given him the vehicle to carry his love of fantasy into a more adult setting. Storytelling became entirely about his own comfort and catharsis, rather than Sam’s, and had allowed him to explore and work through a lot of his own childhood trauma, as well. Only now as an adult, that fantasy extended to soothing away his own sad lack of a love life by writing his two favorite characters finally getting their shit together and finding their own happy ending together. It hadn’t vicariously solved all his real life problems, but it definitely helped.

“Yeah, I get it. Surrounded by kids all day, you gotta keep something in your life that reminds you you’re a grownup.”

Cas gave him a relieved smile as he picked up the last book on the cart and clutched it to his chest. ”I love my job here. I couldn’t bear the thought of an entire lifetime spent in the dusty archives of a government warehouse. I think it’s a perfectly fair trade to hold back that one piece of myself to be able to spend my days sharing my love of stories with the next generation directly.”

Dean smiled back. “Sounds like you made the right choice.”

Cas crouched down and put that final book in its place and then stood up and gave Dean a thorough once-over. “If I also get to work with people like you, then I’d have to agree.”

If Dean had been a character in one of his own fics, he would’ve probably been blushing at that. As it was, he really _hoped_ he wasn’t blushing. At least Cas wasn’t looking at him.

“Yeah, same,” Dean managed to choke out in a mostly normal sounding tone of voice. “I, uh, worried about leaving my whole life behind. It’s been a hard couple of months, and I haven’t exactly had much time to meet people since I’ve been here. But I’m really glad I met you.”

Cas sighed and stood up, giving Dean a satisfied smile. “The feeling is mutual. You’ve put me nearly an hour ahead of schedule. I don’t know what I’m going to do with all that free time.”

Dean laughed and then glanced up at the clock. “I’m sure a librarian’s work is never done. You need anything else? If not, I should probably make a show of getting ready for tomorrow before we have to call it a day.”

Cas tilted his head to the side and regarded him for a moment before glancing around the library. He reached past Dean and grabbed the handle of the empty book cart and slowly pushed it over beside the circulation desk. “I could probably invent some busy work for you if you’re truly desperate for something to do. You could cut strips of paper into bookmarks, or sharpen pencils, but I’m sure you’ve got your own busy work to tackle.”

Dean thought back to the stacks of official forms he’d spent the morning organizing and filing. He really didn’t have much left to do. If he actually dared to log into his personal google account on the school computer, he could squeeze in an hour of editing, but he wasn’t sure whether anyone in the school was even on the lookout for that sort of thing. Dean supposed if anyone would know, it would be the librarian.

“Just out of curiosity,” Dean said as Cas sat down behind the circulation desk and woke up the computer. “What’s the school policy on logging into personal accounts on the school computers?”

Cas looked up from where he’d been logging in to his official school account and bringing up the circulation desk software. “Bess is our resident tech specialist and computer science resource teacher. She also maintains our network. You could ask her if you have any concerns, but she’s assured me that as long as you log out of your personal account when you’re finished, your information will remain private and secure.”

Dean nodded slowly. Yeah, he wouldn’t risk some kid stumbling across anything untoward in his browsing history, but if the school’s not saving records of employee internet activity, then he should be safe enough logging in for an hour or two. There weren’t even any kids in the building today, and most of the teachers were probably using every last minute to get their classrooms ready. Dean really didn’t expect any interruptions.

“Okay, then. Even if I don’t have a mountain of calls to return and emails to reply to, I can get caught up on a few personal things.”

Cas grinned up at him. “I didn’t doubt you could keep yourself entertained. If all else fails, you’re welcome to come back and stare at the Magic Eye pictures any time you want.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll take a pass on that,” Dean replied. “Maybe stick to Where’s Waldo.”

Cas nodded seriously. “A wise decision.”

Dean rocked back on his heels, knowing he was dragging this out. Cas obviously had other work to do, but the last few hours had been some of the most enjoyable Dean had spent since he’d left Kansas. It was a surprising feeling, after feeling alone and isolated for so long, but he really enjoyed Cas’s company. Dean pulled himself together and stopped acting like a kid with a crush on the teacher.

“Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to it, then. Thanks for lunch, and keeping me company. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

A smile spread over Cas’s face at that. “Yes, I’d like that very much, Dean. If I don’t see you again today, I’ll definitely see you in the morning. Staff meeting at nine sharp in the cafeteria.”

“Be there or be square, huh?” Dean said. “Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

With that, Dean headed back to his office. He’d only missed one phone call from a parent confirming her son had been placed in the correct class. He didn’t even need to respond. His email inbox was still empty. Someone from the front office had dropped off a box of art supplies he’d ordered, and Dean spent a few minutes arranging paper, crayons, and colored pencils on the shelf below his collection of books. Now he was as ready as he could be for the start of school, and he still had at least an hour to kill before he could leave. With a quick glance around to make sure nobody was hiding in the corner or ready to spring out from behind a chair in his little office, Dean caved and logged into his google account.

He spent the first few minutes feeling like he was about to get caught, nervously glancing up every few seconds, certain the internet police were about to barge in and arrest him for writing smut on company time. He’d reread the same paragraph three or four times without processing any of the words before he finally began to recover his chill and got into the story. Dean kept one eye on the clock, and still managed to get through four more chapters before marking his place with a note for Feathers and carefully logging out.

For the first time since he’d agreed to swap drafts with Feathers, he was actually feeling pretty confident in his story. He had to give at least some of the credit for that newfound confidence to Cas. The man had no idea, and probably never would, but a few hours in his company had Dean feeling pretty damn good about himself and his writing.

On his way out of the building, he decided that even if he couldn’t share his writing with Cas, he could at least wish the man a good night. He detoured toward the library only to bump into Cas in the hallway just outside his own office. It wasn’t that unlikely an event, since Dean’s office was between the library and the teachers’ parking lot, but it had surprised him all the same.

“All ready for tomorrow?” Cas asked as they walked together toward the door.

“As ready as I’m gonna be, thanks in part to you, by the way.” Dean leaned ever so slightly toward Cas, stopping well shy of bumping shoulders. He had no idea where the impulse to the overly-familiar gesture had come from, but he gave himself a mental pat on the back for reining it in.

“I could say the same, Dean. I’d probably still be up to my elbows in unshelved books without your help.”

“Yeah, but you got a whole extra week before you have to worry about classes coming through yet, right? You would’ve been fine.”

Cas just shrugged and smiled at him. “True, but your assistance today allowed me to get a few, ah, time sensitive things handled that I might not otherwise have been able to complete. It’s more appreciated than you can know.”

“Got all your pencils sharpened, then?” Dean asked with a smirk.

Cas laughed as they stepped through the doors into the late August heat. The sound of his laughter hit Dean in the face harder than the wall of humidity, and the sight of Cas completely relaxed, head thrown back in delight with the late afternoon sun shining on his face, provided the perfect ending for his second day at work. Dean filed the image away for later reflection. It was a really good look on Cas.

They stood there for a moment, both of them realizing they’d arrived at their cars, and neither seeming to know what to do about that fact. Dean finally pointed at his Baby.

“Yeah, so, this is me.”

“Wow, that’s a beautiful car.” Cas said, and then waved his hand at a shiny silver truck parked beside her. “Not exactly a showpiece like yours.”

“Eye of the beholder, Cas. So, uh, I’ll see you in the morning then,” Dean said lamely, rubbing the back of his neck. Any other night and he would’ve asked Cas out for dinner, or stood and chatted for a few more minutes at the very least. He didn’t want to keep Feathers waiting, though, and Cas also seemed awkwardly eager to be somewhere else. Dean tried not to take it personally. They’d only known each other for two days, and Dean decided right there that he never wanted Cas to look that uncomfortable around him. Dean would do his best to never give him a reason to.

Cas smiled, and the tension in his shoulders dissipated a bit. “Absolutely, Dean. If I didn’t already have an engagement this evening, I would’ve asked you to continue our conversation.”

“Another time, then,” Dean replied, not wanting to look either too relieved or too eager about it. He still hadn’t quite sussed out whether Cas might mean that in a date sort of way or not, and Dean wasn’t about to push his luck, or push Cas into feeling uncomfortable about it all. He could be patient.

Hell, for all he knew, Cas’s _engagement_ might be a date. They hadn’t really talked about their love lives. Not that there was really much to talk about for Dean. Their lunch conversation had quickly veered into writing, and for all the deeply personal shit Dean had shared with Cas, dating histories still seemed too forward for new coworkers to lay out on the table. Dean laughed at himself for having such a ridiculous thought, and watched with interest as the rest of the stiffness melted out of Cas’s shoulders and off his face.

“Good night, Dean, and thank you again.”

“Yeah, Cas, same.”

They both gave each other a little wave as they backed out and headed off to their respective engagements. On his way home, Dean stopped and picked up a pizza. He didn’t want to be interrupted by the delivery guy ringing his doorbell in half an hour, and he definitely didn’t have the patience to make himself something to eat before opening his laptop. As he stood waiting at the counter, his thoughts slowly shifted from Cas to the fic he was now nearly halfway through editing, and then to the shiny new Feathers fic waiting on his laptop at home. Dean knew he probably had a little longer to wait before Feathers would be home from work, but his nerves were still beginning to get to him.

The aroma of a piping hot pizza on the seat beside him centered him for the short drive home. By the time he arrived, he’d committed to his plan. He changed into his most comfortable clothes, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and ate a slice of pizza while he scrolled through Discord. No sign of Feathers yet, so he gave himself another minute to finish his slice, and then went right to their DM’s.

 **Impala67** : Hey, Feathers. I’m home, but I’m waiting to get the official go ahead from you to start reading. I’m ready when you are.

It took every bit of self-control Dean possessed not to break that promise the minute he’d typed it. He didn’t have any idea when to expect Feathers, but based on the previous night, a glance at the clock told him it might be a while. Dean didn’t waste any time, and went to edit the next chapter of his own fic. He’d only got halfway through his second slice of pizza, and a few paragraphs into his next chapter before he got a Discord notification. Half expecting it would be from Charlie, Dean nearly dropped his beer in his lap when he saw it was Feathers.

 **FicFeathers** : I’m home, too. I just need five minutes to get everything set up. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.

 **Impala67** : Set up? Sounds complicated.

Feathers didn’t reply immediately, and Dean wondered what the hell he could be doing. He took the opportunity to go mark the new editing point in his fic and eat another slice of pizza.

 **FicFeathers** : Okay, I have dinner, comfy clothes, and my laptop. It wasn’t that complicated. Though I admire your restraint. I half expected to come home to notes on my first chapter.

 **Impala67** : pffft, like I could start without you. It would’ve felt like cheating.

 **FicFeathers** : Well, speaking of cheating, I managed to find an hour or so at work and did a bit of a readthrough of my first few chapters. Hopefully the quality won’t drop off too precipitously past that point.

 **Impala67** : Well if we’re confessing our sins, I got up into chapter 7 of mine. You’ll see the comment I left myself as a placeholder where I stopped.

 **FicFeathers** : I admire your tenacity, but I hope doing that much editing at work didn’t negatively impact your job performance.

Dean froze for a moment, thinking back over his whole day, his lunch with Cas, and then all the time he spent helping out in the library. Somehow that felt more like cheating than the hour he stole afterward to edit. It felt weirdly wrong to mention how else he’d spent his time at work, so Dean just let it go for now. He intended to open up more to Feathers, but somehow talking about Cas definitely felt like the wrong place to start.

 **Impala67** : Nah, it was a slow day. No worries. I’m surprised you found the time to get any editing done yourself. And kinda glad your day didn’t turn out as busy as you were expecting.

Feathers didn’t immediately start typing again, and Dean worried for a minute that even that relatively innocuous question was pushing the envelope too far into personal territory for Feathers today. Then he figured the guy was probably doing the same thing he’d been doing-- trying to eat and type at the same time. He said he’d just sat down with his dinner, after all. Dean’s moment of panic passed quickly, as Feathers began typing again.

 **FicFeathers** : Yes, I received some unexpected assistance that cut about half the workload of a big project.

 **Impala67** : Well, lucky you.

 **FicFeathers** : Or lucky YOU. Since you won’t have to read the mess that had been chapter one until about an hour ago.

 **Impala67** : A ringing endorsement. So what do you say? Ready to go?

 **FicFeathers** : As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose. Let’s see if I can even concentrate on your story while I know you’re reading mine.

 **Impala67** : Well, I hadn’t been worried about you reading my fic until right now, thanks. :’(

 **FicFeathers** : At least we’re both on the same page.

 **Impala67** : Not for long. I’m starting now, btw

Feathers didn’t even reply, but went right to reading. Dean watched his cursor move down the first few lines of his own fic before clicking over to Feathers’ and diving in.


	6. Chapter 6

Cas hated to cut his conversation with Dean short. Standing in the parking lot between their cars after work, he was almost positive that if he were to ask Dean to join him for dinner, he would’ve said yes. But he’d made a promise to Impala, and that was something he’d also been looking forward to. It was hard to make that choice when it had been so long since he’d met anyone he’d felt so strangely comfortable talking with. After Dean had essentially handled all the shelving and freed up his afternoon for editing, Cas also felt like he owed Dean dinner, at the very least. It was good to know that Dean seemed just as interested as he was to continue their conversation, if his awkward hesitance as they’d parted in the parking lot was anything to go by.

The only sticking point for Cas was that he wasn’t sure if Dean’s interest extended beyond friendship. He didn’t want to put this new and fragile relationship developing between them at risk by making assumptions. Dean had talked about his life a great deal, but he hadn’t mentioned any romantic partners. His track record on picking up social cues wasn’t stellar, so Cas was more than willing to let their friendship develop before attempting to pursue anything else with Dean.

They’d only known each other for two days. It wasn’t like he was in a hurry. Cas would rather have Dean as a friend than make a fool of himself and have to face Dean every day at work afterward.

On his way home from work, he stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few things, including a ready-made sandwich from the deli. He’d needed milk and coffee, and it saved him from having to waste any more time preparing himself something for dinner. That was time he’d much rather spend reading Impala’s fic.

Impala had beaten him to the internet the night before, and Cas’s patience ran out about twelve seconds after he walked through his front door. He set his groceries in the kitchen and pulled out his phone to check his Discord notifications. There it was, Impala already ready and waiting for him. He typed out a quick reply asking for five minutes to get settled in and raced to stash his groceries, change into something more comfortable, and transfer his sandwich to a plate. He grabbed a bag of chips and a soda from the fridge and set himself up on the sofa. One bite of his sandwich would have to stave off his hunger as he waited for his laptop to wake up.

Cas and Impala instantly fell into their familiar easy banter. It was comfortable, and reassuring after the emotionally heavier conversation he’d had with Dean. With Impala, he didn’t need to know his life history to understand how his writing had become the product of it. He knew Impala’s writing style inside and out, and could only guess at the personal experiences he drew from to craft his stories. He wondered for a moment if this was an easier way to get to know someone, if it was just as intimate a kind of knowledge as he and Dean had shared over lunch.

He’d dismissed those thoughts to ponder later, and eagerly set his sights on reading Impala’s story, ready to look for new insights into someone he’d gradually come to consider a friend. He’d lost his focus for a moment when Impala reminded him of his supposedly busy day, and he’d had to wrench his thoughts away from Dean yet again. It somehow felt like a betrayal of trust, both to Impala and to Dean, to explain just how he’d spent his afternoon. A quick and tidy dismissal in work terms had been enough to shift the conversation back to what they were both really here for. The story. It was all about the stories.

Cas began leaving regular editing notes-- a stray comma here, a typo there, but there were hardly any of those, even. QueenOfMoons had been right, Dean’s draft was highly readable. All his other notes, the emotional reactions to scenes and particularly noteworthy turns of phrase, he sent directly to Impala via Discord. Much to his ongoing terror, Impala did the same.

Every time another notification came through, he cringed, expecting this would be when Impala bowed out of the challenge, or found his fic too complicated to enjoy reading, or found some essential element of the story that just didn’t work for him. After the third of fourth glowing comment, Impala laughing in all the right places, spotting all the references to the show, and really getting into the story, he finally began to relax.

They both did. Impala’s first reply to one of his comments had been “Oh, thank fuck you don’t hate it.” Cas needed a moment to recover before replying, “Of course not! I’m just glad you don’t seem to hate mine, either.” They’d sorted that out over a series of borderline embarrassing messages reassuring one another and expressing shock that the other would’ve been worried, because they both agreed that they were thoroughly enjoying their respective reads.

It was inevitable that Impala would reach the point beyond which he hadn’t edited yet first, and Cas was dreading it when he realized Impala was getting close. He shouldn’t have worried.

 **Impala67** : Apologies, Impala, but I haven’t edited past this point? Really Feathers? Apologies? This is great so far. I can’t imagine it’s about to take a hard left turn off a cliff.

 **FicFeathers** : You may encounter more typos

 **Impala67** : I think I can handle it lol

And that’s all it had taken to truly let them both get into the story. Hours passed, and before he knew it, Cas had reached Impala’s editing placeholder.

 **FicFeathers** : Beyond here be dragons? Am I in unedited territory now, or is this fic about to undergo a massive plot twist?

 **Impala67** : Holy shit, nothing like the twist you threw down. No dragons, just typos. Probably lots of those.

 **FicFeathers** : Then I shall draw my mighty sword and slay them

 **Impala67** : heh good luck with that. I cannot BELIEVE this chapter. Is this what an Unnatural con is actually like? I didn’t know you’d been to one

And this was another moment Cas had been dreading. How to confess how he came by his knowledge of fandom if he kept his identity so secret within the fandom.

 **FicFeathers** : I have, actually. Years ago. But not as a guest. It was entirely by accident, before I ever became involved in the fandom, I was at a work-related conference and the convention was at the same hotel. I had watched the show, but witnessing the convention was my introduction to the fandom. I suppose this is my personal idealized version of what a convention should be like, though.

 **Impala67** : Wait so you were in the same building with the cast and you didn’t even have a ticket into the room? I think I might’ve died.

 **FicFeathers** : It was a near thing. One of the volunteers was gracious enough to talk with me about it, and I overheard most of a panel while we chatted. I’ve wanted to write this story ever since.

 **Impala67** : Well you kicked it in the ass, Feathers. It’s awesome. Kinda makes me wanna go to a con. They should pay you for writing con promo fic.

 **FicFeathers** : How about you, you’ve never been to a con, but from reading this I believe you have some experience with horse ranching, which I hadn’t expected.

Impala took a minute to type out his response, and Cas found himself yawning while he watched the little dots cycle through their pattern. He glanced at the clock and was shocked to see it was already after eleven. He’d have to save the rest of the story for tomorrow if he didn’t plan on shuffling into school like a zombie in the morning.

 **Impala67** : Yeah, I spent some time on a ranch as a kid. Dad had a job repairing farm equipment for a while, took us all over the midwest, and down into Arizona one summer. School was out, so I spent a lot of the summer learning to care for the animals, and about the desert. That fic is based on the story the owner told me about her own life, how she met her husband and moved halfway across the world to be with him. Guess it stuck with me, too. Could never figure out how to tell the story until now, though.

 **FicFeathers** : I’m certainly glad you worked it out. It’s a beautiful story.

 **Impala67** : Not too corny?

 **FicFeathers** : There is no corn in this story, nor dragons.

 **Impala67** : Lol, I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a complaint.

 **FicFeathers** : Definitely a compliment. Unfortunately I think I’m going to have to finish it tomorrow. I have to give a presentation tomorrow morning, and if I don’t get to sleep soon, I’m afraid I might pass out on the podium, and that would just be embarrassing

 **Impala67** : As long as your audience isn’t passing out, I’m sure you’ll be fine.

 **FicFeathers** : I’ll take that as your well wishes for my success, then.

 **Impala67** : Yeah, good luck. And good night. I’m gonna save it here, too. At least I know how I’m spending my Friday night.

 **FicFeathers** : Same here. Good night, Impala. Sweet dreams.

Sweet dreams. Cas sat there and stared at what he’d typed for a moment, wondering if that was an overly forward thing to say. Impala didn’t reply, but he may not even have seen the message if he’d already shut his computer. For a panicked moment he considered editing his message. If Impala had seen it already, then deleting it would just make things weirder between them. It was an innocuous enough thing to say, after all. He chuckled at himself for even worrying about it, and shut his laptop. Cas had bigger things to worry about. At least he knew he’d have some sweet dreams.

As he got ready for bed, Cas’s idle thoughts about the entire day swirled together. He shut off his light and drifted off to a strange vision of Dean in a cowboy hat atop a horse, galloping in and rearing up the way Neal did in Impala’s story.


	7. Chapter 7

Sweet dreams. Dean stared at the line for a minute or two, but he didn’t have anything to reply to that. He’d already said good night, and the thought of adding anything else now felt dangerously forward. Eventually he closed his laptop and sat there for a few more moments, rubbing his eyes and stretching before heading off to bed. He imagined Feathers giving his work presentation at an Unnatural con panel, answering the audience’s probing questions about the show and his own fanfic as he fell asleep. He had no idea what Feathers looked like, so his brain supplied an image that was unsettlingly similar to Cas. The realization had startled Dean, but not enough to stop him from slipping into dreamland.

Dean arrived at school earlier than he had to be there the next morning. He fully admitted to himself that he was still nervous about his two minute presentation, and wanted to scope out the setup before he had to get up in front of an auditorium full of strangers. It was a lot easier practicing his speech for a room of empty chairs. He stood at the podium on the tiny stage at one end of the cafeteria, reciting his lines to no one. Well, he thought he had. “That sounds perfect, Dean,” Mildred said as she walked into the room, smiling. “I think you’re gonna do fine.”

Dean gave her a nervous smile and a shrug, trying to downplay how anxious he had to be to sneak a practice session in before the faculty meeting. “I was here early, so I figured what the heck.”

“Couldn’t resist the allure of the stage?” Mildred asked with a smirk as she set a folder down on the podium and opened it to organize her own notes for the morning’s program. “It’s not quite karaoke night at the Drafthouse, but you’re far less likely to have beer nuts thrown at you here.”

Dean laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve been out for karaoke. Maybe next time I’ll see how well my speech goes over with that crowd.”

Mildred gave him a fond smile. “I usually stick to the classics. You can’t go wrong with Patsy Cline.”

Dean hummed a few bars of Walkin’ After Midnight and Mildred grinned and started singing along with him. They were interrupted a few minutes later when Max and Alicia stuck their heads in to listen. Dean immediately stopped singing, feeling his face turning red under the sudden scrutiny of the resident music teacher. Max, however, beamed at them.

“Aw, don’t stop on our account,” Max said. “We’re only here for the floor show.”

Mildred laughed at that. “I’ve got to check on a few more things before the staff meeting starts. And lookie there, I’m already running out of time,” she said, glancing over at Cas and Donna coming through the door. She excused herself as several other teachers filed in.

Within a few minutes, the room filled up, both with teachers and the aura of nervous energy they brought with them. The excitement and tension were palpable, finally meeting the students they’d be working with for the coming year, as well as their parents. Dean knew from his own past experience that sometimes meeting the parents was a hell of a lot more nerve wracking than meeting the kids. There always seemed to be at least one or two in every bunch that intended to stir up shit from day one. At least as a counselor and not a classroom teacher, he’d probably only be called in to help manage a situation if it went beyond simple first day jitters. Most teachers were willing to cut parents a bit of slack knowing it was typically just a temporary case of well-intentioned if misguided concern for their kids.

Dean chatted with a few of the teachers as they all milled around exchanging pleasantries, but eventually found himself drifting over toward Cas, who’d taken a seat in the very last row at the back of the room. He’d sat there, watching everyone else with a contented smile on his face. Dean sighed and slumped down in the chair beside him, and turned to Cas with a smile.

“Are you prepared to deliver your speech?” Cas asked, sitting up straighter. “I never did provide a practice audience for you.”

“Yeah, Mildred helped with that.” Dean felt suddenly, strangely self-conscious at the thought of mentioning their singing, and cleared his throat instead. “How about you? You need any more help in the library today, or you got things under control?”

“I’ll have several of our seasoned volunteer parents on hand to help with crowd control, but you’re always welcome in the library, Dean.”

Dean nodded at that, looking around the room instead of at Cas. “Yeah, I figured this is probably the one day of the year when I don’t really have much to do. I could stand around looking official, but I don’t think anyone’s gonna be swinging by my office.”

Out the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas nod.

“In that case, you’re welcome to look official in the library. Almost every family stops by to look at the books, and hopefully anyone who intended to talk with you today will find you there more easily.”

“Two birds, then. You got yourself an official extra volunteer,” Dean said, finally grinning over at Cas and feeling a zing run down his spine at Cas’s answering smile. He cleared his throat and hoped he hadn’t been staring into Cas’s eyes for too long again, and groped around for something else to say. Humor seemed to work well with Cas, at least, and that was Dean’s go-to move when he felt totally out of his depth. “So, sitting at the back of the class. I kinda took you for more of a front and center kind of guy.”

Just as Dean hoped, Cas laughed at that, and then leaned in confidentially. “Librarians tend to be rebels, Dean.”

Dean was at a loss for a reply to that, but luckily he was spared from having to come up with something by Mildred getting everyone’s attention and bringing the meeting to order. Dean sat there only half listening to her welcoming everyone back and going over the day’s schedule. He’d already memorized it, and most of it didn’t even apply to him anyway. He’d be spending most of the day in the library, trying not to let his thoughts keep drifting back to Cas.

Sure, some of the conversation they’d had over the last few days had veered toward the flirtatious end of the spectrum, but Dean had been able to handwave most of the things Cas had said to him as warmly welcoming and friendly. He also thought he’d kept his own comments in that lane, for the most part. But the way Cas had told him that librarians are rebels, in a low and rumbling tone meant only for his ears, and with a mischievous glint in his eye… Dean was left feeling just a bit too warm all over.

The rest of the meeting passed quickly, with Cas sitting comfortably by his side. Mildred dismissed them to their assigned stations-- manning various club and volunteer signup booths lining the main hallways, welcoming families by the front entrance, and providing answers to whatever questions the incoming students and parents might have. Cas left for the library with a little nod of encouragement, and Dean headed out to the front of the building, ready to hand out information packets and direct people toward the cafeteria.

The morning flew by in a flurry of activity and conversations. The dreaded assembly speech was exactly as painful as Cas had assured him it would be. The audience laughed at Dean’s jokes and applauded when he’d sat back down, and Cas gave him a reassuring smile as the next speaker took the podium.

Dean had no idea how Cas did it, but it was like he could convey entire novels with a glance. It left him feeling rather dazed for the rest of the program, his mind turning the conundrum of the man seated beside him over and over like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. The more he got to know him, the more Dean really wanted to know more. Even just spending time sitting beside him left him tingling with anticipation. It was an almost entirely new experience for Dean. He wasn’t sure he’d ever met anyone who’d intrigued him as much as Cas had in only a few short days.

The audience clapped and jolted Dean out of his reverie, and then the entire room was on the move again. A few parents came up to the stage to talk with Mildred, or hand over asthma inhalers and epipens to Alex the school nurse, or to hand in completed paperwork to Bess to be entered into the official records before hurrying off to their childrens’ classrooms. When nobody approached Dean and Cas immediately, they exchanged a glance, and Cas shrugged.

“And now we wait,” Cas said. “Classroom presentations are scheduled to last half an hour, and then special program rotations will begin.”

“Music, gym, computer lab, art, science lab, and… something else, right?” Dean said, grinning at Cas before jumping down off the stage.

Cas followed after him as they walked toward the library. A few frazzled parents sat at one of the tables letting their younger children page through picture books, most likely while their older siblings attended their classroom orientation with their other parent. One child’s mother looked up at Cas, contrite, and asked if it was okay that their children had removed a few books from the shelves. Cas nodded fondly.

“Just put them back on the cart by the circulation desk when you’re finished, and I’ll reshelve them for you.”

The woman was grateful, and fell back into conversation with her friend as their kids read. That left Dean and Cas with not much else to do but talk to one another. Dean followed Cas like a lost puppy all the way back to the storage room of an office he’d begun to become familiar with already. It was only after Cas slumped down in his desk chair with a sigh that Dean wondered if he shouldn’t have found something else to keep himself busy with for a while.

His thoughts immediately went to Feathers’ fic. There was no way in hell he could continue reading that at school. The part of the story he’d left off on wasn’t exactly family friendly, but it wasn’t smut. Maybe being up on stage during a question and answer session had just reminded him of the Unnatural convention panel he’d been reading about in the story. Dean spared a thought for Feathers, and wondered if he was experiencing a similar frustration over not being able to keep reading his fic, too.

“Would you like to take a seat, Dean?” Cas asked, spinning around and sliding a rolling chair out from the table behind him, and once again startling Dean, who’d effectively been staring at the back of Cas’s head again. “It’ll be a while before we’re inundated.”

Dean cleared his throat, and took the offered chair. “Uh, yeah, sorry. Guess I got a little distracted there.”

Cas frowned at him. “There’s really nothing for us to do here right now. I don’t want to keep you from anything important…”

“No, no, you’re not. I, uh, I’m just thinking about something I need to do over the weekend. It’s fine.”

Cas hummed thoughtfully in reply. “Perhaps I shouldn’t spoil the surprise, but Mildred will traditionally dismiss us early once the orientation program is completed. Unless you have anything you need to finish up here this afternoon, you’ll have a few extra hours of weekend to work with.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Just act surprised when she announces it at the closing staff meeting. We always do, every year.”

Dean gave him a conspiratorial little nod, and then grinned. “Who am I to stand in the way of tradition?”

If he was lucky, he could sneak in a few hours editing the rest of his own fic before Feathers even got home from work, and then spend the rest of the night reading and trading comments with Feathers.

“You look like you’ve already got your entire weekend planned,” Cas said after a moment. “Have you been acclimating well to life in our little town?”

Dean snorted. “Little. There’s more going on around here every weekend than there was in half a year back where I’m from. There’s some kinda street festival tomorrow night, a local vineyard’s wine tasting event at the community center, and a car show at the fairground on Sunday. I’m sure I could find plenty of stuff to do if I was in the mood.”

That piqued Cas’s interest, and Dean realized he’d already implied he’d had plans, but none of the local entertainment variety. “So your big plans for the weekend involve staying home?”

Rather than stammer like a nitwit, Dean realized he’d already ‘fessed up about his writing with Cas. There was probably no harm in giving him at least a little bit of the truth. “Yeah, thought I’d get some writing in, and maybe watch a little tv. Try to catch up with a few old friends I only get to talk to online now.”

“Ah, yes. I’m familiar with maintaining long-distance relationships,” Cas said, frowning. “The internet makes the world seem so small, and at the same time reminds me how impossibly large it is.”

For the first time since they’d met, Dean felt a strange weight of sadness at the mention of long-distance relationships. The melancholy look on Cas’s face as he stared out over Dean’s shoulder made him hesitate. If Cas had some sort of complicated online relationship with someone, he wouldn’t press the issue. At least Dean finally knew where he stood, though. It was a little disappointing to know he had basically zero chance of wooing Cas, but it was probably best to learn that so early on before he’d allowed himself to get invested in the idea. And friendship with Cas was good enough. Dean could do friendship. He wouldn’t let himself screw that up.

“Yeah, I finally move to the same state as my brother, and I still feel like we’re communicating long distance.”

“He lives locally, though,” Cas said, snapping back to reality. “You could get together for one of those weekend events.”

Dean had to laugh at that. “Yeah, he and his wife would prefer the wine tasting tour, and I’d rather hit up the car show.”

“There is such a thing as compromise, Dean. Doing something that’s not your first choice in order to enjoy the company of the people who matter most to you.”

“Maybe next weekend, then,” Dean replied with a smile. “I’ll ask him if he’s up for anything like that. So what about you?”

Cas blinked at him, his eyebrows shooting up. “What about me, what?”

“Got any big plans for the weekend?”

For just a second, Dean could’ve sworn that Cas looked disappointed, but he recovered quickly enough that he thought he’d imagined it.

“I… well, like you, I think I’ll devote at least a little bit of time to writing. I’ve been maintaining a correspondence with another author, and we’ve been, uh, discussing an intriguing project.”

“You thinking about getting back into pro writing, then?” Dean asked.

Cas laughed, and Dean couldn’t help but smile at the way his whole face crinkled up at whatever he found so funny. Cas wiped a few tears and caught his breath.

“No, nothing that ambitious. Or possibly nothing that horrifying. No, it’s just a little project for our mutual enjoyment of the craft. There’s still life and community in writing, even outside of professional publication.”

And there was yet another reminder that Cas still had those contacts, was still friendly with professional authors, and _maintained long-distance relationships_ with them. Even if it was just a friend, it was just one more reminder for Dean that Cas was out of his league. An attractive librarian who chose to be there when he could’ve just as easily chosen a career as a famous author. He didn’t need Dean at all. Cas already had a life, and was just a kind enough person to keep Dean company while they were at work together. That was it. Whatever strange simpatico Dean had felt between them was nothing more than his imagination working overtime.

Maybe he really should try to do some writing this weekend and tame those thoughts into fic. He only lamented for a moment that his life had somehow become an unrequited angst fic before letting it go again and doing his best not to sound insanely jealous. Of course, that backfired and he ended up sounding a bit pathetic instead.

“Hey, that sounds interesting, anyway. If you ever need someone to bounce ideas off of, I’m happy to play rubber duck for another writer.”

Cas gave him an amused look as he thanked him. At least he was nice enough not to reject the offer out of hand. “Thank you, Dean. I do appreciate that. I hope you know the same goes for you. It’s rare enough to find someone I feel so at ease around, let alone someone whose company I genuinely enjoy. I might eventually take you up on that offer.”

That odd little revelation reminded Dean of the first time he’d seen Cas, sitting alone in the cafeteria with his nose in a book. It seemed so at odds with everything else he knew about Cas and the way Dean had seen him speak to and about his coworkers. Everyone at the school fostered a familial and caring atmosphere, but even the closest families didn’t share everything with each other. Dean forgot about his reservations and once again fell back into the magical vortex around Cas that kept pulling him in despite himself.

“What, you don’t enjoy the company of everyone you work with here?”

“No, of course I do, Dean. But, uh, I haven’t exactly shared much of my life outside of school with any of them.”

And that was just as intriguing to Dean as everything Cas had already so easily shared with him. Maybe the simpatico wasn’t all in his head, after all. It had seemed like something not entirely comfortable for Cas to confess to him, too. If Cas could admit it, then so could Dean.

“Yeah, I don’t exactly share my writing with anyone I’ve worked with, either. Don’t really talk about it outside of a few very close friends. At this point, you probably know more about my hobby than my brother does.”

“Well, I’m honored you felt comfortable enough to share it with a veritable stranger, then,” Cas replied, just as an announcement came over the school PA system and startled them both.

Mildred’s voice over the speaker informed everyone there were five minutes remaining before the first enrichment rotations would begin, to allow teachers and parents time to finish up addressing any questions before having to move on. When she finished, Cas sighed and stood up.

“I should probably warm up the projector and prepare my presentation.”

Dean was almost sad their conversation was cut short right when it began to get interesting again, but he nodded and followed Cas out into the library. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

One side of the library was set up like a classroom, with work tables arranged in front of a projection screen and a whiteboard. Cas went over to the projector set up amidst the tables and switched it on. The screen glowed with a slide that read _Welcome to the library!_

“I’ve got a three minute presentation explaining the library learning schedule, tailored for each grade level. We’re seeing the kindergarten students first, and then working through to the fifth graders. If you’re able to, you can answer parent questions. You’ll probably have the presentation memorized by the time the second graders roll through,” Cas finished with a smirk in Dean’s direction before going back to his laptop and setting his first slide presentation up. “Donna agreed to sit at the circulation desk and explain that process to curious parents, so you might pick up a few informational points from her, as well. Several returning parent volunteers will be on hand to recruit new volunteers, mostly, but if you’re able to convince any parents they should be spending their free time helping keep the shelves in order, that would definitely be a plus.”

“I can turn up the charm if I have to,” Dean replied, giving Cas a comically over the top wink.

Cas fought back his grin just long enough to deadpan, “You might want to restrain yourself. That’s practically weaponized charm, and we only have one recovery cot in the nurse’s office.”

Dean shrugged as if it had been a fair point, as Cas finally broke down and laughed.

“Unless anyone comes up to me for counselor business, then I’m all over it.”

Cas gave him a firm nod, and then Mildred’s voice came over the speaker again, informing the entire school it was time to switch classes.

The rest of the day flew by. By the time the third grade classes came through, Dean was mouthing along with Cas’s presentation, having memorized the library rules and procedures. A few parents sought him out to introduce themselves and their children, but no one had any immediate problems for him to resolve. More often than not, he found himself watching Cas.

As comfortable as Cas had been in the library when it had just been the two of them, seeing him surrounded by kids who almost universally seemed happy to see him again and share what they’d been reading over the summer, Dean had no trouble understanding why Cas would’ve abandoned a writing career for this job. He was so genuinely pleased by each of his students and their obvious joy in what they’d read. And to them, Cas was an adult who fostered that joy in them. It really was a gift to have that sort of power to inspire young imagination so directly. Sure, publishing the books that potentially millions of children would find inspirational was great, but actively being part of their lives and directly instilling that love of reading was something else. Being able to see the results of his work reflected back to him in their excitement and happiness every day was pretty damn rewarding, even if they weren’t reading stories he’d written himself. It was just a different kind of rewarding.

Dean could understand it entirely. It was what had motivated him to become a counselor himself, to be that person who’d stood in his corner when he was a kid. Maybe he’d never change anyone’s life as drastically as his own, or maybe he’d never know if he had that profound an impact on another kid’s life, but just knowing he could, that he at least tried, was enough.

By the time the last few straggling families made their way out of the library, Cas looked absolutely frazzled. Each group had spent barely ten minutes moving through, and it hadn’t been enough time for any of them to make much of a mess of the place. One of the parent volunteers tidied up abandoned paperwork and other detritus before thanking Cas and making her exit, as well. That only left the closing staff meeting, and their imminent dismissal for the weekend.

Dean pushed in the chair at the circulation desk and switched off the computer, while Cas shut off the lights in his office and closed the door. He left the main library lights on for now, mostly to humor Mildred, but it would only be the work of a minute to return to switch those off, too. As Dean and Cas made their way back to the cafeteria, Dean felt a sudden weight at the realization that they were about to go their separate ways for the weekend. When they returned to work on Monday morning, everything would be different. They’d both be swept up in first day chaos, and the little routine they’d established over the last few days would be a distant memory. Maybe they could still keep their standing lunch appointment, but it would hardly be the same once the cafeteria was filled with raucous students. And if they were about to be dismissed for the day just before noon, then they wouldn’t even have one last quiet lunch together.

Just as Cas had predicted, Mildred thanked them all for a successful orientation day and sent everyone home to enjoy one last calm and peaceful weekend before the start of school. As the rest of the staff filed out, Dean held Cas back for just a moment.

“So, since we got cheated out of our regular cafeteria lunch today, uh, would you maybe wanna grab a bite or something? I mean, if you don’t already have other plans…”

Dean wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing, since he himself already had other plans. Well, technically, anyway. Feathers wouldn’t be expecting him to be online for hours yet, and he didn’t _need_ to keep editing his own fic right away. What harm was there in taking a little break to cement his friendship with Cas? While he mentally kicked himself over all of this, up to and including the part of his brain screaming at him that it wasn’t _friendship_ he wanted with Cas, he waited anxiously for Cas to work through whatever conundrum was putting the current look of stunned confusion on his face. Before Dean could retract the offer, Cas gave him a little nod.

“We do need sustenance. I think that’s a lovely idea, Dean. Just give me five minutes to lock up the library, and I’ll meet you outside. Did you have anywhere in particular in mind?”

Dean did his best not to react with undue glee, at least outwardly. He gave what he hoped was a casual shrug. “I figured you know the area better than I do. What are you in the mood for?”

“Ah, I see through your plan. You’re just using me for restaurant recommendations.” Cas smirked at him. “How do you feel about Asian?”

“Sounds great,” Dean replied, then headed to his office to lock up.


	8. Chapter 8

Cas figured he had less than twenty minutes to process everything that had happened between him and Dean that day. He went back to his office after Dean’s adorably flustered lunch invitation, only to find Donna already shutting everything off for him.

“Oh, Donna, you didn’t have to do this,” Cas said, frozen in the doorway as she switched off the lights across the room.

She smiled at him and made a shooing motion with her hands as she walked toward the door. “I heard Dean invite you out for lunch. I figure this way you can get a head start on it.”

Cas stiffened for a moment, but Donna’s smile didn’t relent and he felt a bit silly for his instinctive wariness. The school welcomed workplace romances, as long as they didn’t interfere with anyone’s ability to do their jobs. The students always came first, which was fine by Cas. He’d just never worked in a place where same-sex relationships were carried out so openly. He hadn’t been in a relationship in so long that he’d never even considered what the fair number of couples among the staff could mean for him, and he certainly wasn’t in a relationship with Dean. At least not yet.

“We’re just continuing a conversation we’d begun before orientation. Whatever you think it is that’s putting that glint in your eye, it’s not that, Donna.”

Donna gave him the same face he’d seen her give a ten-year-old student when the boy insisted that a werewolf had broken into his house and eaten his homework. “Well, you go on and have a nice time, then,” she said, turning him around by the shoulders and giving him a gentle push into the hallway as she turned out the rest of the lights and shut the door behind them.

On the drive to the restaurant, he kept checking his rear view mirror to make sure Dean was still following. It made it difficult to think clearly, but he was certain he was making the right choice in spending more time with Dean, even outside of school. He repeatedly had to remind himself that having a real friend as opposed to anonymous internet friends was a good idea that he should’ve acted on sooner. It was still hard, erecting this tentative bridge between his work life and his social life. The chasm seemed unsettlingly broader than he’d remembered it being. For Dean, though, a major bridge construction project might just be worth the effort.

He’d caught the man _singing_ that morning, with Mildred. They were just having a bit of fun, and it shouldn’t have stopped him from walking through the door and interrupting them, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he’d stood in the hallway, checking messages on his phone as an excuse to loiter there, listening. It hadn’t lasted nearly long enough, but it had warmed him in ways he couldn’t really explain. And then there’d been his borderline mortifying comment to Dean about librarians being rebels. It was an absolutely true statement, but the way he’d said it and the look Dean had given him, like Cas had been caught peeking in his window, had almost made him flee the room. Dean hadn’t been repulsed, at least, and for whatever reason, still apparently wanted to share his company.

If that hadn’t been enough, he’d almost jammed his foot in his mouth again when Dean had been talking about his potential weekend plans. For just a split second, he’d thought Dean had been inviting _him_ along on one of the outings he’d mentioned. Dean had only been asking about his own plans, but Cas was certain he’d covered his disappointment at the misunderstanding. It had led him to embellish his own mostly non-existent plans. _Collaborating with another author on a project_. Cas still couldn’t believe he’d said it that way, which again had a strange effect on Dean that Cas had no explanation for.

The man was a fascinating conundrum, and all of their interactions left him mildly bewildered and yet exhilarated. If this was what riding a roller coaster was like, then perhaps Dean was right. If their lunch went well, maybe Cas would suggest they make a trip to Hershey Park before the season ended. Or maybe that would be too much for him to handle-- a roller coaster _and_ Dean Winchester all in one day might be medically inadvisable. He was barely handling his current situation.

He’d planned on going home and getting in a few extra hours of editing before Impala got home from work. Cas had been eagerly anticipating getting back into reading and chatting with Impala for the rest of the evening, and now he felt strangely like he was somehow being unfaithful to their arrangement. But he had been completely honest with Dean, and truly did enjoy his company. And he didn’t even know Impala’s real name. For all Cas knew, Impala lived a thousand miles away and would never consider a relationship beyond what they already had. Dean, at least, was real. And Cas still had no idea what sort of relationship Dean would ever consider with him.

For all their talk about writing, Cas hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with the true nature of what he wrote for his own entertainment. He’d told Dean about his ambitions as a professional author, but grimaced and gripped the steering wheel harder as as glanced up to see Dean stopped behind him at a red light, just imagining telling him that his true writing passion was _fanfic_ of all things. Any respect Dean may have had for him as a writer, and possibly as a person, would go flying out the window.

“Rein in those expectations,” he muttered to himself as the light turned green and his thoughts grew grimmer.

He’d caught Dean mumbling along with his presentation by the time the fifth graders came through. It was hard to tell from across the room, but the look he thought he’d seen on Dean’s face through the entire speech had been… soft. Fond, even. Almost like Dean admired him for his enthusiasm in sharing his love of books with his students. In that moment, he decided there was nothing for it. He’d encourage Dean’s friendship, but he’d need to keep that wall firmly in place. He couldn't risk losing Dean's respect entirely.

Dean followed him into the parking lot at Wok and Roll and found a spot a few places down from Cas. As he got out of his truck, Dean threw him an amused glance and then nodded up at the sign.

“Really, dude? Puns?”

Cas shrugged as they walked side by side to the restaurant. “The service is quick, the food is delicious, and I’m easily amused by a good pun.”

The moment Dean opened the door, they were hit with the aroma of spices and sizzling meats and the sounds of a guitar and drums blasting over the speakers inside. The lunch rush had begun to die down a little bit, but there were still a fair few number of people waiting to be served. Cas grabbed a menu and handed it to Dean, and then took his place in line.

“You already know what you want?” Dean asked, noticing he didn’t take a menu for himself.

“I’m deciding between Wokkin Overtime or Moonwokker. Both are excellent.”

Dean frowned at him and then looked down at the menu, before glancing around at what the other diners were eating, bopping his head a bit to the beat of the song. “Okay, then. I guess I can forgive the puns. At least they got good taste in music, and it smells fantastic.”

Cas snorted. “I don’t even recognize the song, but if you’re enjoying it, then I’m glad.”

Dean let the menu drop to his side, and slowly turned to stare at Cas. “You don’t recognize Led Zeppelin?”

Cas blinked at him for a second and then his mouth dropped open. He slammed it shut as quickly as he could and strained to listen to the song. He _should_ recognize Led Zeppelin. Their music was the backbone of Unnatural, and enough episodes had been named for their songs even if the show couldn’t afford the rights to play the songs in any of the episodes. He recognized the titles, and he had heard some of their music, though he didn’t always catch those references. This was one of those areas of the show that he relied on Impala’s insight, but he wondered if maybe he shouldn’t make more of an effort to learn at least the catalogue of their songs that had been directly referenced in the show. And then the guitar and harmonica intro gave way to the lyrics, and he practically kicked himself.

“When the Levee Breaks,” he said. “Yes, I should know this song.”

Dean laughed and shook his head, smiling bemusedly as he went back to reading his menu. “Apparently you do, buddy.”

Cas warned Dean off ordering extra spicy until he’d experienced the standard spiciness, and Dean thanked him for the warning when he took his first bite of Szechuan beef and followed it with a hearty gulp of soda. Dean assured him it was really good, and plenty hot enough, while Cas went back to eating his curry.

They talked about the music, and the next several songs that played while they ate, and Cas silently thanked Impala for educating him enough to not sound like a total fool in front of Dean. Conversation eventually drifted back to writing, as it inevitably did between them, but this time Cas was more cautious. He deflected from talking about his own projects, and instead let Dean bounce a few ideas off him. Cas had been writing Unnatural fic for so long that it felt like a refreshing exercise to talk through some of Dean’s original ideas. One about an airline pilot falling for an aircraft mechanic who was afraid of flying sounded particularly interesting, and Cas couldn’t help but imagine it as an Unnatural AU fic. It hardly seemed fitting to ask Dean if he’d consider letting him write it that way. It was only after they’d been tossing ideas back and forth for several minutes that Cas even registered the fact that Dean was discussing a modern queer romance story, and not at all a fantasy that he claimed to write.

“What?” Dean asked him when Cas had stopped eating and was just sitting there staring at him. “I got something on my face?”

Cas shook himself, knowing he couldn’t shake the bewildered look off his face. “I thought you only wrote fantasy, or horror. As intriguing an idea as it is, it sounds like an entirely different genre.”

Dean once again had that adorable deer in the headlights look, like he hadn’t even been aware that he’d ventured out of his own writing niche. “Uh, yeah, I guess it is. Might make a fun story to write, though.”

“I agree. You might even have publishing potential with it, if that’s something that would interest you. I know several romance editors, and I know they’re buying that exact sort of work.”

“I don’t think so,” Dean said, hunching over a bit and picking at his food, no longer meeting his eyes. “Probably not the kind of thing parents at school would want their kids’ guidance counselor putting out in the world.”

Cas frowned at that and watched Dean shift uncomfortably in his seat. He’d sworn not to let himself get carried away again, and here he was, forgetting everything and allowing himself to talk with Dean like they were just two ordinary people out at lunch together. He’d allowed himself to forget why he kept his own writing walled off and firmly entrenched in fandom, where nobody knew his name and nobody would blink an eye at a queer romance story. Hell, that’s exactly what the project he’d been working on himself was, and exactly what the project he’d been beta reading for Impala was, too, for that matter. But the thought of publishing it under his real name? Dean was right. It could have unintended consequences.

“You could always use a pen name,” he suggested rather lamely, but at least Dean seemed to relax a bit.

Dean gave him a glimmer of a smile and shook his head. “Gotta write it first. As soon as I get around to writing the two dozen other things I’ve got notes for already.”

Cas laughed. “I keep a document with story ideas and notes, too. Last I checked, it was getting close to fifty pages long.”

Dean snorted, finishing the last bite of his lunch. “Yeah, looks like we’re both gonna be writing until we’re dead at this rate.”

“Good,” Cas replied, entirely sincere as he began packing up his leftovers to go.

He wiped down their table while Dean got up to toss his trash and then made his way toward the door just as the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ cover of Love Rollercoaster began playing over the sound system. Why did that have to be one of the songs he recognized? It took everything in him not to freeze in his tracks and stare at Dean. Cas pushed his way through the door and then pivoted to hold it open for Dean, who bounced his way out onto the sidewalk to the beat of the music. He struggled to come up with anything to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a lunatic. After a panicked few seconds of thought, once the door swung shut and silenced the music, he settled for changing the topic entirely.

“Thank you for lunch, Dean. It was nice to get in one last hurrah before we’re consigned to spend our lunch breaks conversing over chicken nuggets and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“Hey, I won’t hear a word against grilled cheese. It’s a classic,” Dean replied as they crossed through the parking lot to their cars. “Plus, if conversation’s too hard surrounded by the rugrats, we can always hide out in my office. I got a decent sized work table that would double as a great dining table. Upside is the chairs are more comfortable than the cafeteria benches.”

Cas could feel the smile spread across his face. “So you would like to continue our lunchtime appointments?”

Dean gave him a look of exaggerated hurt and clutched his chest. “Is that all I am to you, Cas? An appointment?”

“If I don’t make you a regular appointment, I have the tendency to just work straight through lunch.”

“Well, we can’t have you passing out from starvation,” Dean replied with a little salute as he opened his car door. “Pencil me in, then. Barring any sort of student-related emergency, consider it a standing date.”

Cas blinked at him for a second and then did his best to not stand there looking like a dope. It was just a turn of phrase, he told himself. Dean wasn’t literally suggesting they were dating, or that eating school cafeteria food together constituted his idea of a date. That thought was enough to get Cas chuckling, which was better than staring dumbstruck. “Good luck with your writing this weekend, Dean.”

“Yeah, Cas, you too,” Dean replied, hesitating before getting into his car. “If you get stuck, feel free to text me and complain about it. I got a couple friends who do that already. Not that I’m any help, but I’m used to listening to them vent about it.”

“I don’t think I have your number,” Cas replied with a frown.

Dean pulled out his phone and tapped something in, and a moment later Cas’s phone dinged in his pocket. Dean held up his own phone, looking a bit pinker than he had before. “I, uh... staff directory… I’ve been adding numbers, just in case.”

Cas pulled out his phone and read the message. _“Hey, Cas. It’s Dean :)”_ The little smiley face would’ve looked ridiculous in a professional text, but in his other life online, emojis counted as punctuation. It was strangely comforting seeing it there, and made him wonder for just a second if maybe the bridge he was building to Dean didn’t have to go as far as he’d thought.

They’d said their goodbyes and headed off in separate directions. Cas didn’t text Dean back until he’d arrived home, still an hour or two earlier than his usual time. He put his leftovers in the fridge, changed into something comfortable, and got his laptop warmed up. He’d already decided he wouldn’t even bother checking Discord until he’d made it through at least two more chapters of editing. Before he dove into that, he composed what he hoped was an encouraging, inviting, and friendly reply to Dean.

_ <<Hello, Dean. Same goes for you. I’m always open to random frustrated writing keysmashes, though hopefully you have a productive weekend and the words flow for you _

He added a thumbs up emoji, because it seemed the most neutrally encouraging thing he could find after scrolling through all the available images. He could hold back the confetti and party horns for now.

Message sent, he turned off the ringer and set his phone aside to take full advantage of the extra editing time he’d been granted. He started off reading through and making all the minor corrections Impala had noted. There weren’t many, but he grumbled over every errant comma and every awkward sentence anyway. When he reached his previous note to himself and moved out into territory that Impala had already read but he hadn’t edited yet, he was relieved to find that Impala’s corrections didn’t increase dramatically.

Time flew by, and before he knew it, he’d reached the note that Impala had left for himself at the beginning of chapter six, and stared at it for a minute before replying to Impala’s comment.

 **Impala67** : I’m loving this so far, and I kinda hate that I have to get up in the morning for work.

 **FicFeathers** : I went through and made your suggested edits, and I’m ready to get back to your fic now. I’m glad you’re enjoying it. :)

With that, he finally opened Discord, ready to see if Impala was online yet. He carried his laptop with him to the kitchen and read through the message boards while he heated up his leftovers for dinner. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down at the table to eat while he caught up with QueenOfMoons and talked another author through a scene transition they were struggling with. 

It was only after watching a conversation between two other authors unfold that something from his conversation with Dean had registered. The other authors were discussing different ways for the characters to drop hints that they were queer, or at least open to a relationship with someone of the same gender. And one of them suggested that one of the characters leave a gay romance novel lying around their apartment for the other to find. Cas sat there blinking at the monitor for a few minutes, because that’s kind of what Dean had done over lunch.

If Dean had a story idea for a gay romance novel, then odds were that Dean was at least bisexual himself. Or at least that’s what Cas would’ve thought if he’d written their lunch date into one of his fics. After a moment he kicked himself and reminded himself that real life didn’t operate on the rules of fiction. He’d never make assumptions like that about real people, especially when Dean himself hadn’t mentioned a single past relationship nor his own orientation directly. But Cas wouldn’t discount the fact, either. If nothing else, it gave him a little bit of hope that Dean wouldn’t be entirely opposed to taking their relationship further, in time.

It was in this profoundly improved frame of mind that Impala finally messaged him, and they resumed their weekend editing binge. Now if only he could somehow lure Dean into writing his story as Unnatural fanfic, he might be able to solve all Dean’s problems. He wouldn’t want to publish it under his own name, but maybe there was a tiny chance Cas could convince him there was still a thriving, if unpaid, market of eager readers for his writing, if he were willing to make a few small tweaks to the story.

When they once again drew the evening’s editing to a close, Cas was nearly done with Impala’s fic. He only had two more chapters to go, but he had all weekend and wanted to savor the ending. Impala still had a considerable chunk of his fic to get through, since it was a good deal longer than his own fic was. They agreed to resume the following morning, but before signing off, Cas took a risk. Maybe he was feeling a bit reckless after his conversation with Dean that afternoon, but he realized he valued Impala’s opinion as a friend, if that’s what their relationship would always be confined to. Cas also valued his opinion as someone who guarded their identity and their fandom activity as closely as he himself had. Maybe their mutual relative anonymity gave him the confidence to bend his own rules, just a little bit.

 **FicFeathers** : can I ask your opinion on something not related to writing? Well, it’s a little bit related to writing, but it’s also a bit personal.

Impala didn’t reply for a moment, and Cas wondered if he’d already logged off, or if he’d crossed a line into territory Impala wasn’t willing to discuss. It was such a common fear for him lately, and yet Impala had never not at least told him he couldn’t answer something. Cas believed their friendship-- for all its limitations and constrictions-- was stronger than that.

 **Impala67** : Okay, I’m intrigued…

 **FicFeathers** : Right. Okay. I have a real-life friend who’s a writer, but is unsure about publishing. He thinks there isn’t a market for the kinds of stories he wants to tell. He’s not in it for a career in as an author, but I also think he simply craves an audience.

 **Impala67** : Did you tell him about AO3? If he wants to post his fic, that’s the best place to do it.

 **FicFeathers** : Yeah, that’s the issue. He doesn’t write fic. It’s original fiction. He doesn’t even know I’m involved in fandom at all, but his ideas would work so well as fanfic that for the first time ever, I’m considering bringing up the potential creative outlet to a real-life friend.

 **Impala67** : Wow… so… crossing the streams… you must really like this guy if you’re considering breaking your own rules for him

Again, Impala had hesitated on replying, and Cas’s heart sank just a little bit. He was considering breaking his rules for Dean, but he hadn’t been expecting Impala to seem… hurt? It was often hard to read emotions behind text conversations, but Impala definitely seemed at least disappointed. They’d been talking online for years, and Cas had rarely even allowed himself to share entirely innocuous and generic information about himself with Impala. And now he was talking about bringing someone who knew him in real life into the fandom, and giving Impala nothing more than he’d ever had before.

Maybe Cas wasn’t wrong, and Impala had thought of him in the same way he’d thought of his anonymous editing friend for the last few years. It might not even matter one way or the other if Cas couldn’t stop staring at Impala’s last message long enough to reply to him soon. If Impala really was hurt, or feeling disregarded, then Cas could at least extend an olive branch. After all, he already felt like he was cheating on Impala by sharing so much of himself with Dean.

 **FicFeathers** : He’s just a friend who’s found himself in a predicament similar to our own. It’s just that I’ve never even considered telling anyone I know irl about the solution that you and I seem to have found to satisfy our respective need to tell stories. It’s rather a daunting proposition to expose myself like that to anyone. I thought if anyone would understand, it would be you.

After another delay of a few minutes, Impala finally resumed typing, to Cas’s eternal relief.

 **Impala67** : Yeah, I get it. Someone tried to convince me to submit something to a publisher recently, and it scared the shit outta me. I can’t even imagine bringing up Unnatural, or fandom in general, to a coworker or a meatspace friend. It’s the sort of thing that would have me dropping my entire life, changing my name and moving to Canada or something. I get not wanting to expose yourself like that. It’s a scary thing. You found your outlet, and it works for you. It makes you happy, right? Having some hoity-toity author tell you your writing’s not good enough because it’s only fanfic, and not real writing is a real kick in the teeth.

 **FicFeathers** : I wouldn’t say my friend is “hoity toity.” But that’s it exactly. I love writing fic, and it brings a lot of people joy. I feel good about what we do here (talking with you included, in case that wasn’t clear). I’ve just spent years feeling like my life was divided into tidy compartments, and I admit the notion of opening a door between them is a bit daunting. I am comfortable with myself, my writing, and my life. I just wish I didn’t feel that my only true friends were people whose faces I will never see, and who will never know me for who I really am.

Cas hit the enter key before he could chicken out of posting what he’d written. He wasn’t sure if he was making a plea to Impala to help him work through his dilemma regarding Dean, or if he was making a confession to Impala himself. Before Impala could even reply, Cas began typing again.

 **FicFeathers** : I think maybe for the first time in a very long time, I’m wondering if anonymity is even worth it. At least not with the people I consider to be friends. Maybe it’s just late on a Friday night, and I’m exhausted from a long week at work. I think I’m just feeling lonely.

 **Impala67** : Yeah, I think I know exactly how you feel. You wanna sleep on it, see if you feel any different in the morning? Either way, I got you penciled in for noon tomorrow. And I’m always here to listen.

 **FicFeathers** : Thank you, Imp. You can’t possibly know how much I appreciate you.

 **Impala67** : Yeah, same here. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Sweet dreams

And with that, Cas logged off, shut his laptop, and laid his head back against the cushions. He’d only known Dean three days, and he’d only begun pushing his boundaries with Impala for the same amount of time. How the hell had his life become so complicated in less than a week?


	9. Chapter 9

Maybe the universe was trying to send him a message, Dean wondered as he shut his laptop and rubbed his eyes. First Cas got him talking about writing again, and the first fic idea he could think of that sprang to mind to talk about that also wasn’t obviously Unnatural fanfic happened to be a romance novel of an AU, and not at all the fantasy or horror he’d told Cas he wrote. At least Cas had said he was intrigued by the concept of the story, rather than offended or upset at the notion of a modern queer romance story. That boded well in general for their continued friendship. Dean might not be willing to tell Cas that the leading characters in the story weren’t two rando OC’s, but an angel and a monster hunter from an obscure little fantasy horror show, but he also wasn’t willing to maintain friendships with people who were opposed in any way to queer romance.

He’d already been awkward as fuck all day around Cas, so it was a relief coming to that realization. Once he got past the shock and horror of potentially being judged for it, anyway.

So much for his plan to test the waters with Feathers, too. Apparently the guy already had a friend he was pushing his own boundaries with. Dean had spent a good five minutes mentally kicking himself for thinking that Feathers didn’t have a full, rich life outside of the Unnatural fandom. He definitely spent more time talking with Feathers than pretty much anyone else online, especially lately, but their own self-imposed barriers had always limited the extent of their actual friendship. It was probably too late to really change that now. The pang of jealousy still burned, whether he had any right to the feeling or not.

Then again, Feathers did say that he valued Dean’s advice, and he seemed to be questioning whether anonymity in general was worth the isolation that came along with it. Maybe he was hoping Dean would give him a nudge, to reassure him that it was safe to open up to him online about his real life. If this was all some convoluted way of Feathers telling him he was interested in pursuing a genuine friendship, if not something more, then Dean would be there for him. It was the least he could do for Feathers.

He sighed and pushed himself up off the sofa. That conflicting roil of thoughts spun through his mind half the night, leaving him tossing and turning for hours. It was a damn good thing it was Friday night and he didn’t have to get up for work in the morning.

When Dean finally gave up on sleep and rolled out of bed, he still had a few hours before he was scheduled to meet up with Feathers on Discord, but that didn’t stop Dean from hauling his laptop to the kitchen while he brewed a pot of coffee. He stood at the counter and reread their entire conversation from the night before, attempting to tease every last drop of nuance from what they’d each written. It left him feeling even more confused and frustrated than he’d been before. He was so focused on reading that he nearly missed the notification when Charlie messaged him.

 **QueenOfMoons** : Hey Dean, just checking in to see how your first week at the new job went. You haven’t been online much, so I also assume you and Feathers are spending all your free time making sweet, sweet love to each other’s fic. I’m only a little bit jealous of both of you, just so you know.

Dean read it over, sipping coffee and doing his best not to roll his eyes at the fact she addressed both his dilemmas in her first two sentences. She redeemed herself entirely by the end of the third, though. Charlie was always good for perspective, even if Dean nearly snorted coffee out his nose at her delivery. If anyone could help him figure out the mess of his social life, it would probably be her, though.

 **Impala67** : Work’s great, Feathers’ fic is great, but I think I got a problem…

 **QueenOfMoons** : Well, that doesn’t sound too ominous there, Dean

Dean stood there, leaning one hand on the counter as he guzzled his coffee. He’d need all his brain cells awake for this. Donuts wouldn’t hurt, either. And that’s when he remembered Charlie lived walking distance to his apartment, and to the best bakery in town.

 **Impala67** : This might be easier to explain in person. Can you meet me at the bakery on the Promenade? Donuts are on me.

 **QueenOfMoons** : You had me with donuts. I’ll be there in ten.

They sat on a bench in the shade, well out of the way of the regular path of dog walkers and joggers, devouring pastries while Dean did his best to recount his double dilemma with both Cas and Feathers. Charlie listened patiently. She kept her comments to sympathetic noises and valiantly restrained herself from rolling her eyes at him.

“So you admit you feel like you’re cheating on Feathers by pursuing anything with Cas, and vice versa?” Charlie summed up when Dean’s stream of consciousness petered out. “And yet you don’t know if you can share your fandom life with Cas, or your real life with Feathers, without it all blowing up in your face anyway? That about cover it?”

“I don’t know how to bridge the gap with fandom people,” Dean said, when Charlie interrupted him by clearing her throat and pointing at herself. Dean snorted. “You’re not just any fandom people, Charlie. You came pounding down my door almost as soon as I showed up on the message boards and you wouldn’t take no for an answer. Feathers ain’t you.”

“You’ve been talking for years, probably more than you and I talk,” Charlie replied. “Neither one of you knows how to have a conversation. You’re probably both hopeless, but you both deserve a shot at it.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face and then shook his head. “Not if Feathers intends to pursue something with his other friend. Not a lot of hope for me in that case.”

“Or the other guy really is just a friend, and he was using him as a hypothetical and hinting that he wants to drop the pretense with you,” Charlie suggested, before changing her angle of attack. “But what about Cas? You think there’s any chance he’s open to something more? For a guy you met three days ago, you’ve certainly peeled back a lot of the endless layers of flannel that comprise Dean Winchester for the guy.”

“You making fun of me, Charles? Even after I bought you donuts?”

“No, Dean, I’m telling you when you don’t impose limitations on yourself, you do just fine talking to people. And you’re one of the best judges of character I’ve ever met. I think you know this Cas dude is good for you. You already spilled the beans on the general subject matter you write, and he still seems interested in talking to you enough that you have a standing lunch date--”

“Not technically a date,” Dean muttered, but it didn’t deter Charlie now that she was on a roll.

“You’re gonna be seeing him practically every day, and he already practically knows your whole life story. You seem to really like him, and you’ve already technically been on at least one date with the guy even if neither of you has stuck that label on it yet.”

Dean grumbled into the coffee cup clutched between his hands. “But what about Feathers?” He dared a glance at Charlie out the corner of his eye, just in time to catch her looking up to the sky in search of patience.

“You don’t even know his real name, Dean. You don’t know who he is, or where he lives, or what he does, or how old he is, or what he looks like.”

“I don’t give a fuck if he’s called Spiders Georg and lives in a cave. I just know how he thinks, his sense of humor, what interests him, what he’s passionate about, what makes him laugh and cry and what frustrates the hell out of him. I know him from how he writes about the thing I’m most passionate about, and the rest of it seems beside the point.”

When Charlie didn’t answer right away, Dean finally looked up at her. She stared at him, open mouthed and blinking.

“Trying to catch flies?” he muttered at her, and she slammed her mouth shut.

Charlie huffed and frowned. “You’re half in love with the guy and you don’t even know his name. This is definitely a bigger problem than I thought.”

Dean let out a bitter little laugh. “Welcome to my life.” He sipped his coffee and watched a couple of ducks swim by on the canal while they sat there in silence for a few minutes.

Charlie eventually finished her coffee and got up to toss the cup in the trash. She sat back down beside Dean and gave him a stern look.

“Well, I think you’ve got three choices, then. Either you’re willing to take a risk with both of them, drop the pretense and just give them both the full Dean Winchester Experience.”

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes at her. “Yeah, and if that fails I lose both of them. And I still gotta work with Cas every day.”

Charlie shrugged. “It’s not like you have to share a desk with the guy. You can probably mostly avoid him outside of staff meetings. And it’s not like he’s gonna get you fired over the fact you like a dumb tv show.”

“Probably not,” Dean reluctantly agreed.

“And Feathers probably won’t stop talking to you or liking your fic or your meta if he finds out you’re a socially stunted school counselor who moved halfway across the country to be closer to his only living family. And I also don’t think he’d out you to the rest of the fandom if you asked him not to. I don’t think he’s that big an asshole, honestly.”

Dean just sighed at that. “Okay, so what are my other options?”

Charlie grinned at him. “You could just keep carrying on like you have been, and try to keep your fandom life secret from Cas, and your real life secret from Feathers. No risk, no reward, though. Nothing would change, and you’d probably continue being miserable over all of it.”

“Yeah, that’s not much of an option. That’s why I asked you for advice.”

“That’s incredibly self-aware of you, Dean,” Charlie replied. “Nice to know even trained counselors need advice sometimes.”

“So option three?” Dean asked.

“Pick one of them, and let the other go.”

Dean gave her the look that comment deserved. “What, and hold the other in reserve in case it all goes to hell?”

“I don’t think it will go all to hell, with either of them. But whatever you decide to do, you eventually will have to make a choice. You can’t just string them both along if you intend to unbox your whole life to either of them, you know? It’s not fair to the other.”

Dean nodded thoughtfully, staring off down the river to watch the ducks dive under lilypads, digging their breakfast out of the mud at the bottom of the river while their little feet flapped in the air. Charlie leaned her shoulder against his and rested her hand on his elbow, and dropped her voice into a comforting and confidential near whisper.

“You don’t have to decide what you’re gonna do right now, Dean. I know this all sorta landed on you at once, and it’s a huge step for you, to trust anyone enough to be open to exposing yourself like this, no matter what you decide to do. But I’m proud of you for even considering it, just so you know.”

Charlie gave him a hug before they went their separate ways. Dean had an appointment to keep with Feathers, after all. Now he only needed to figure out what the fuck he wanted to say to him. Charlie was right, though. It wasn’t like he had to make a choice on the spot. It wasn’t like Feathers would just drop off the map once they were finished editing for each other that afternoon. They might not talk as much as they had over the last few days, but he wouldn’t just disappear from his life entirely, right? They’d been chatting for years, and he couldn’t even imagine Feathers just cutting ties entirely if he wasn’t ready to give him the unvarnished truth of his life right now.

He trudged back to his apartment and sat down on the couch. Dean had fully intended to wait until noon to get back to reading, as they’d agreed the night before, but he was feeling lost and lonely and confused. It was exactly the state he’d left Neal and Em in the previous night. He admitted to himself that he needed the comfort of reading Feathers’ words right then, needed to know how the characters would make it through and find their happy ending. Maybe it would give him some insight into how to deal with his own entirely fucked up situation.

Dean glared at his laptop for a whole five minutes before caving and opening up Feathers’ fic, more than an hour before he was supposed to. He opened their Discord chat, too, just to give Feathers the heads up that he was feeling impatient and needed to get back to the story. When Feathers didn’t reply right away, Dean took it as a sign, and dove in.

He was surprised at first to see that Feathers had left a note for him. He’d been up early that morning, and used his time to finish a proper editing pass. When Dean jumped back into the story, it was almost like reading a polished and posted Feathers fic, with all the attendant emotional investment. Dean lost himself in the words, and it took Feathers finally signing into Discord and discovering the dozen or two messages Dean had sent him to finally pull him out of the story.

 **FicFeathers** : I apologize for my lateness, but I bumped into one of my neighbors who enjoys talking my ear off whenever she catches me out running. I see you’ve made substantial progress in my absence, and I’m glad you’re still enjoying the story.

 **Impala67** : Understatement of the year, Feathers. I was having a rough morning, and I really needed the distraction. I hope it’s okay I went ahead without you.

 **FicFeathers** : I’m actually really touched my writing helped you when you needed it. I hope you’re feeling better now.

 **Impala67** : Yeah, I think I am. You’re almost done with mine, though. I still got about five chapters of yours to go. Either way, I think you’re gonna finish before me.

 **FicFeathers** : I won’t abandon you to the wolves the moment I’m done, Impala.

 **Impala67** : Don’t tell me there’s wolves in the last chapter…

 **FicFeathers** : No spoilers. (no, of course there aren’t any wolves. Now go back to reading, and I’m going to do the same. I have to know how this ends, and the suspense has been eating at me since last night.)

Feathers finished his fic less than an hour later, and announced the fact with a long and glowing review. They chatted back and forth about the story for a good long while, and Dean tried to let himself relax and enjoy their usual banter. Neither of them brought up their late night conversation again, and they both tap danced around anything that came too close to their own real lives.

It was another few hours before Dean finished reading, as well. He sat back and sighed, letting the happiness and peace that the characters had found wash over him, savoring the end of the story for a few more minutes before going back to their Discord chat.

 **Impala67** : Dude, you were 100% right. That’s a great ending. But you said you already had a sequel in the works?

 **FicFeathers** : In a manner of speaking. Not a sequel, as much as the other half of this story, and what Jack did for the three days Neal and Emmanuel spent in an alternate universe.

 **Impala67** : So I guess that’s what you’re planning to write next? Because I gotta say, I’m dying to know what happened in his universe all weekend. After Neal and Em read that letter at the end, it’s obvious there’s a whole other story to tell there.

 **FicFeathers** : I have to confess, I’ve already started writing it in the last hour. Jack’s story picks up at Chapter Five. The introductory chapters serve as the opening and setup, just as they do for the fic you just read.

Dean nodded along, already eager to read it, even though Feathers had barely begun to write it. He wasn’t feeling pushy enough to ask to read over Feathers’ shoulder while he wrote, but the second he was done...

 **Impala67** _:_ Well as soon as it’s done, I’m happy to beta it for you. Mostly because I’m an impatient bastard.

 **FicFeathers** _:_ I guess that’s about as glowing a review as I could hope for. I’m relieved to know that this experience wasn’t enough to turn you off beta reading for me in the future. :’D

 **Impala67** _:_ The opposite, actually. I’m really digging the super secret access to your fic, in case that wasn’t obvious.

 **FicFeathers** _:_ I have to ask, since I don’t think you’re planning a sequel to your fic, what are you going to write next?

Dean sat there and stared at the question like it was written in a foreign language. He’d been so obsessed with finishing his last fic, and then overwhelmed with everything that had happened over the last few days, that he hadn’t even thought about a new story yet. He quickly scanned through his idea file until he found something that called out to be written. It was similar to the story idea he’d casually tossed at Cas over lunch the day before, but entirely set in canon. Dean laughed at himself for a minute for being so predictable before going back to the chat.

 **Impala67** _:_ I’ve been writing AU’s for the last few months, so I think I wanna do a canon fic again. I had this idea for a case fic, with monsters operating a smuggling racket inside that airport from back in season one.

Feathers didn’t reply right away, but Dean could hardly blame him after having disappeared from the chat for a few minutes while he waffled over a few story ideas before settling on one. Feathers had only probably been sticking around because Dean had been tossing him comments and notes for the last hour. Dean suspected he’d gone back to writing, and he wouldn’t blame him for taking a minute or two, or even more to reply again. He got up and fixed himself a sandwich, and by the time he returned, Feathers had as well.

 **FicFeathers** _:_ Jerry in Pennsylvania with the low-res demon? You’re really digging into the past now.

 **Impala67** _:_ HAH! I knew you’d remember the guy’s name. But yeah, his airport, and he calls them in to investigate a string of suspicious incidents in the terminal. It’s not a demon this time, though.

 **FicFeathers** _:_ I always enjoy your case fic. I look forward to reading it whenever you’re ready to share it.

 **Impala67** _:_ So I didn’t scare you off with my rough draft either, I guess

 **FicFeathers** _:_ No, I think our mutual editing relationship is safe for now.

 **Impala67** _:_ Good to know. So this is weird, right? I mean I’ve spent more time talking with you over the last few days than pretty much anyone else. I guess I got used to the company.

 **FicFeathers** _:_ Yeah, writing is a solitary activity for the most part. I think I might have a few questions for you while I’m working on this piece, though. I intend to have the actors share what they know about Jack’s life that he might not be aware of, like that voicemail message that was altered before he heard it right before he committed to killing Lilith. Things like that. I’d like to include as many of those incidents as possible, and I may ask for your input, if you’d feel comfortable with that.

Dean sat there for a moment thinking back over the entire show before finally replying. It wasn’t exactly the conversation he’d hoped would spring out of the effective end of their mutual beta reading. If Feathers wasn’t ready for the other conversation yet, Dean could live with that for now. His talk with Charlie had reminded him that he didn’t have to make major life decisions right then and there. Feathers was offering him an open door, though, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t about to walk through it.

 **Impala67** _:_ Yeah, yeah I would. I’d be glad to help any way I can. I’m gonna try to binge the whole series again before the season premiere, but I’m gonna end up skimming a lot. I’ll keep a list of what I remember. You just let me know what you need.

 **FicFeathers** _:_ I’ve been meaning to do a full rewatch with detailed notes, but I definitely know it’s not possible in the next five weeks unless I quit my job, resign from society, and move into a wifi equipped cave.

Dean sat there blinking at the screen again, wondering if he should laugh or cry. Out of frustration, he’d told Charlie he didn’t care if Feathers was Spiders Georg, and lo and behold, Feathers might actually be Spiders Georg.

 **Impala67** _:_ Not the way you do notes, it’s not. Plus you can’t live in a cave. What would you eat? Spiders? 

**FicFeathers:** I wouldn’t eat spiders. I am not an outlier and I very much should be counted. I’d just find a cave within Postmates delivery range. Not everyone can watch four episodes in three hours while also typing nonstop and end up with anything even remotely coherent.

 **Impala67** _:_ I’m touched you think my rambling notes are coherent :’D

At this point Dean was certain Feathers wasn’t going to mention his Friday night troubles or his writer friend again. Maybe he worked through his issues on his own, or maybe it really had just been a case of a long week and emotional exhaustion from editing too much NealEm fic and feeling a little too close to their communication difficulties. Dean sighed and decided to let it all go for now, and just let his life happen around him for a little while. Feathers was free to pick up the conversation whenever he was ready, _if_ he was ever ready. In the meantime, Dean would be the supportive friend he always had been.

 **Impala67** _:_ I hate signing off so early, but I haven’t had a chance to do laundry in over a week, and I’m desperately in need of groceries. Guess how I’m spending my sunday

 **FicFeathers:** I should probably do the same. I think I’ve got something around here for dinner tonight, at least.

 **Impala67:** lol I made a sandwich about half an hour ago, and I’m just beat.

 **FicFeathers:** Long week at work? I know how you feel, though. I didn’t sleep well last night, so I think I’m gonna turn in early tonight and push all the annoying chores of adulthood off until tomorrow.

Dean was concerned learning that Feathers hadn’t slept well. Not that Dean had slept well, either, but he wasn’t about to let that slide. It would either be his last chance tonight to push the envelope with Feathers, or else it might give him a gracious exit out of the whole conversation. Either way, it was worth poking at just a little bit, especially since Feathers had opened that door.

 **Impala67:** Nah, work was fine. But I’ve been pulling a lot of late nighters finishing that draft and then editing with you. I think it all just caught up with me. Oh, hey, how’d your presentation go?

 **FicFeathers:** Presentation?

 **Impala67:** Yeah, you said Thursday night you had to give a presentation at work. No stage fright or amusing anecdotes about powerpoint presentations gone to hell? No hecklers in the audience you need to meet with unfortunate accidents?

 **FicFeathers:** Did… did you just offer to do crimes to defend my honor?

 **Impala67:** It kinda looks that way, doesn’t it. I think I’m way more tired than I thought.

 **FicFeathers:** Please just assure me that in real life you aren’t a career criminal or a hit man or something.

 **Impala67:** Nah, just a guy trying to make you laugh. Is it working?

 **FicFeathers:** I must be as tired as you are, because yes, it is. :’D (my presentation went fine, by the way. Better than fine, actually.)

 **Impala67:** Then tell your boss I said you deserve a raise. ;)

 **FicFeathers:** I’ll pass along your recommendation at my earliest convenience, but it wasn’t that sort of presentation.

Dean considered asking him to elaborate, but he’d probably already pushed enough. He really was feeling the entire week catching up with him, after tossing and turning all night and having an emotional breakdown with Charlie that morning on top of that. His brain was all fuzzy from devouring the rest of Feathers’ fic, too, and Dean reluctantly admitted that he was in no shape for yet another emotional ordeal. He took Charlie’s advice and let things go for now.

 **Impala67:** That’s good. I had a rough night’s sleep last night too, so I think I’m gonna go lie in bed and watch a few episodes of Unnatural until I pass out. I’m gonna start keeping that list for you, though. I’ll send you anything I come across. Thanks again for the beta, and for the sneak peek at your fic. It’s gonna take me a few days to get over that one. Incredible work, as usual. :)

 **FicFeathers:** No, Impala, thank _you._ I’m gonna have dreams about cowboys and constellations tonight. ;)

 **Impala67:** lol, sweet dreams, then

 **FicFeathers:** You too. Good night. :)

Dean picked up his laptop, shut off the lights, and headed to his room. It was still stupidly early for him to go to sleep, but he’d completely wrung himself dry and needed to stop thinking about anything for a few hours. At least he still had a reason to keep chatting with Feathers as regularly as he’d now grown accustomed to. He could give it a couple days, though. He wasn’t in a rush. After the week he'd had, what Dean needed was a good old fashioned recovery day. That he could handle. Grocery shopping, laundry, maybe going for a walk around the park-- anything to get his mind off his minor identity crisis, at least for a little while.


	10. Chapter 10

Cas sank into the sofa cushions and sighed. He’d chickened out of talking to Impala about Dean yet again. He still wasn’t sure if he was using Dean to nudge Impala into opening up to him, or using Impala for advice about opening up to Dean. Either way, he felt guilty enough to leave them both on the back burner for at least a little while longer. He’d just met Dean, after all. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t have plenty of chances to get better acquainted with him over the next few weeks, or even months. Dean may not be able to hang out in the library with him quite as much, but if their previous conversations were anything to go by, they didn’t need hours and hours alone together to read each other like open books.

Impala was another matter entirely. In some ways, he already felt like one of Cas’s closest friends. Maybe he didn’t know where the man lived, or what he did in his day to day life, but in all the ways that truly mattered, he understood Impala. He was kind, funny, generous, and caring. It was all there in the way he wrote; the empathy he showed for the characters and the love he expressed through them shone through in all his stories. Cas knew his heart and his mind, as well as he knew anyone in this world, and everything else was secondary.

Impala’s response had rattled him for a moment when Cas had asked what he planned to write next. If Dean hadn’t talked about a story idea set at an airport the day before, Impala’s fic idea would’ve piqued his interest, but Impala described an entirely different fic idea _also_ set at an airport. It wasn’t an earth-shattering coincidence, but it hadn’t helped Cas in his struggle to keep Dean and Impala in their distinctly separate boxes. Real life versus fandom. If both Dean and Impala kept insisting on pushing at him from both sides, he was sure that sooner or later he’d slip up and toss Dean an Unnatural reference, or blurt out something about the school library to Impala. If he was going to have to navigate a real conversation with either of them, he needed to be less exhausted than he currently felt.

Cas had work friends and people he regularly talked to at some of his favorite restaurants and shops. The employees at the local bookstore knew him enough to chat for a few minutes when he went in, and so did the women at the tea shop next door. None of them were people he’d call on just to talk, or make plans with for the weekend. It was his fandom friends he relied on for emotional support and regular entertainment, even if he had no hopes of arranging casual get togethers with any of them outside of his carefully curated fandom spaces online. The option was always there, though. He might guard his identity closely, but many of the people in fandom were open about their lives in general, to greater or lesser degrees.

QueenOfMoons, for example. Cas knew she lived in his general area, even if he didn’t know her real name. She went by Celeste, or Charlotte, or something like that for a while, years ago, before everyone simply started referring to her as the queen, or Your Highness. He knew she’d hosted Unnatural watch parties at her home, and that several other people he’d chatted with had attended. From what he’d gathered from their conversations, all of those people lived within a twenty mile radius of him, or near as. Many of them had also met up at Unnatural conventions over the years, but he’d never considered attending himself. Point was, he _could_ have real, in person relationships with any number of them, too. He just hadn’t worked up the courage to do it yet.

After Impala signed off for the night, Cas had faced yet another dilemma. He’d been happily chugging along writing his follow up fic. The story had flowed out of him in an emotional outpouring, only interrupted by Impala’s occasional comments as he read. Those comments and the resulting conversations had been the fuel sustaining him while he wrote, and now that it had come to an end, all the air had gone out of his creative balloon.

He’d slept terribly the night before, tossing and turning until nearly dawn before finally passing out for a few hours. Cas wouldn’t say he regretted his late night ramblings with Impala about Dean, but it had left him feeling entirely at loose ends. By the time he made it through his usual Saturday morning run, several hours later than he was used to, he hadn’t felt any better.

Finishing Impala’s fic and experiencing the second-hand catharsis of resolution had helped a bit, but that still meant a long day of conversations with him. Cas had started typing, and summarily deleted, at least a dozen attempts to bring their conversation back around to where they’d left it the night before. None of it felt right. And now that he was left to his own devices for the rest of the weekend, the thought of focusing on writing was too much. He could go make the edits Impala suggested, but even that felt like too much mental effort. Maybe Impala was right. He should take the rest of the weekend off, from everything. 

With that thought, he shut his laptop and dragged himself to bed. He could lie there and rewatch the last season of Unnatural, and wonder if Impala was watching the same episode he was.

Sunday morning dawned a lot brighter. The comfort of familiarity had lulled him to sleep. He’d briefly woken up at two in the morning long enough to shut off the television, but otherwise had slept like a log. After breakfast, he’d tidied the house, mowed the lawn, and then ran a few errands that had piled up over the last week.

The women at the tea shop chatted about the weather and the new varieties they’d blended for the fall season. He stopped at the record shop to look into listening to more of Led Zeppelin’s music and bought two of their albums that featured a number of tracks referenced in Unnatural. At the very least, he felt he needed to familiarize himself with those. The fact that Impala had been educating him about their music for years and then Dean had teased him for not recognizing one of their songs when it came on in the restaurant was something Cas couldn’t really deny had contributed to his sudden need to hear more after dragging his feet for so long.

Cas stopped for gas on the way to the grocery store, mentally composing a list of everything he’d need over the coming week while he filled his tank and then found a parking spot closer to the grocery store. He was still adding items as he walked through the parking lot, rounding up an abandoned shopping cart and wheeling it into the store. The regular cashier at the self-check station greeted him as he walked inside, and he stopped for a moment to exchange pleasantries before heading toward the produce section to make his usual circuit of the entire store. He’d only made it through the first three aisles before he was brought up short.

If he hadn’t been so distracted thinking about coffee filters and frozen dinner options, he might’ve noticed a newly familiar black car parked just a few spots down from him while he was walking in. It was impossible to miss Dean pushing his cart up the other side of the aisle and stopping right in front of the coffee sale display, right where Cas was currently attempting to choose between French roast and the house blend.

“I’ll take one of whatever you pick,” Dean said with a grin. “Fancy meeting you here.”

When Cas recovered enough from the surprise to talk like a human again, he smiled at Dean. “I didn’t realize you shopped here.”

Dean shrugged. “I’d been shopping at that little market closer to school, but I drove by here last weekend after meeting a friend at the Italian place next door, and they were still open when we left at nine so I figured I’d pick up a few necessities. And they had a bakery, and fresh pie, so they won my business.”

“Seriously? Pie is all it takes to win you over?” Cas asked, unable to control the flirtation even as he heard it coming out of his own mouth.

“What can I say, I’m easy to please,” Dean replied, picking a lemon meringue pie up from his cart and showing Cas. “Plus it was really good pie.”

Cas made a surreptitious inventory of the items in Dean’s cart as he carefully set the pie back down. A small variety of fruit, a loaf of bread and some cold cuts, a case of soda, a box of cereal and a bag of potato chips. It didn’t seem like much for a week’s worth of meals, but he wasn’t one to judge based on the contents of his own cart. Dean must’ve noticed him frowning between their rather sad selections.

“I figure we got lunch covered every day. I just need to handle breakfast and dinner on my own.”

Cas huffed out a laugh. “As long as you’ll remind me to eat lunch every day, I won’t need to keep an emergency supply of peanut butter and jelly in my office.”

“It’s a classic, but man can not live on peanut butter alone,” Dean replied, leaning in a little closer. “Not when there’s tater tots on the menu.”

Cas grinned at him. “Are you having a productive weekend, then? Ready for school to start tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a contented smile. “I actually got some quality time with a couple friends yesterday, and finished a personal project I really enjoyed. Went out to that bakery down by the river and had a couple of really good donuts, too.”

“Pie _and_ donuts,” Cas replied. “So this is really turning out to be a good weekend for you.”

“It’s even better now,” Dean said, giving him a joking little smirk. “What say we walk and talk?”

Dean picked up two cans of coffee and tossed one into Cas’s cart. He swept one hand forward down the aisle, in an _after you_ gesture, and waited for Cas to lead the way. He’d taken three steps before he had to turn back and grab the coffee filters, already mentally making a note to pay more attention to his own shopping list. Dean was proving his ongoing ability to throw Cas off balance, and Cas was starting to truly appreciate how much he enjoyed it. Even if it meant he’d have to make another trip to the grocery store for everything he was sure to forget on this trip.

They spent longer shopping than Cas typically would have, but he reminded himself that he didn’t have anywhere else to be, and nothing pressing to attend to. He couldn’t remember having that much fun in a grocery store, either, and by the time they were ready to check out, his cheeks ached from smiling at Dean’s antics and running commentary. Once again, Cas was left with the strange sensation of loss as they wheeled their purchases out to their cars. Dean stopped for just a moment when they’d reached Cas’s truck, as he loaded his bags into the bed.

“I’d ask if you wanted to grab coffee, but I got ice cream in here,” he said, pointing at his cart. “Rain check?”

“Maybe next weekend we should get coffee before we pick out perishables,” Cas suggested. He nearly regretted it for a moment until he turned around to see the hopeful look on Dean’s face. It disappeared the moment he’d seen it, but Cas was certain it had been there. There was a stiffness in his shoulders, too, and it may have been mere concern for his cart escaping his grasp in the parking lot, but he seemed to be holding on to it for dear life. Dean composed himself quickly, though, and turned it back around on him.

“So, do I gotta pencil you in for Sundays, too?”

Cas gave him a solemn look and held one hand over his heart, and hoped Dean felt his sincerity. “Not if it’s a burden too great to bear. But I do shop here nearly every weekend, so you’re welcome to join me.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand not white-knuckling his shopping cart. “I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow, then.”

Cas nodded, and then waved as Dean pushed his cart off toward his car. He returned his own cart, feeling dazed, like he’d missed something there in the last few minutes of their conversation. Like there’d been something Dean wanted to say, and yet hadn’t. He’d made it all the way home and brought half his bags inside before he noticed that Dean hadn’t referred to their meetup as a date, like he had when they’d made their standing lunch appointment. All of a sudden, it was a _plan_ , and not a date. Maybe Dean was struggling for words just as much as he’d been over the last few days. If he was being honest with himself, Cas would’ve preferred the date. He wasn’t entirely sure they hadn’t just been on a date, either.

For the rest of the day, as he carried out the menial tasks of human existence from laundry to cooking dinner to balancing his checkbook to preparing for the work week, Cas thought about Dean, and Impala, and his dilemma. At first, he’d only felt more confused than he had before.

Was Dean just being friendly? Was he not interested in pursuing any further deep, meaningful conversations? Had their relationship peaked after five days, and permanently plateaued at whatever they were already? Not that he would mind having a close friend that he saw regularly outside of school. Cas freely admitted that he needed someone in his life like that, and Dean likely did, as well. But they’d seemed to be headed somewhere much different, far faster than Cas had ever experienced before. There was every chance he’d simply read too much into Dean’s intentions. Maybe there was nothing to worry about in the first place.

Impala had said he would be happy to talk with him about anything, whenever he was ready to. After several years of regular communication that Cas was confident counted as a close friendship, even within the limitations they’d set out from the beginning; he wasn’t worried that a few more weeks’ delay in taking him up on that offer while he worked out how he felt about any of this would threaten that bond. As he stood by the side of his bed folding laundry, he reached a sort of peace, an emotional balance, and let all the concern and confusion go. He could take the time to get to know Dean better, not only one on one, but also learn how he interacted with everyone else at school. It might give him some insight into how Dean had behaved with him. If Dean treated everyone else with the same degree of familiarity, and if everyone else felt compelled to open up to him the way Cas had, then maybe it was just a sign of his skill as a counselor and not any sort of deep personal interest in him specifically. It would hurt to learn that, he realized, but it would give him the understanding he so desperately needed to resolve his own issues.

He could also continue talking with Impala, even making a point to involve him more in the drafting of his new fic. The story would definitely be better for having his input, and it would give them both ongoing opportunities to open up to one another.

In other words, he could sit back and let things happen in their own time. He could let his relationship with Dean develop naturally. He could make sure to maintain this new level of intimacy with Impala. He could wait and see where all of this led, and not buy troubles for himself in advance. With that thought, he finally found contentment as he drifted into his first truly restful night’s sleep in days.

Over the next few weeks, Dean only missed one of their regular lunch appointments, but even then he took the time during a minor emergency with a student to text him, reminding him to eat and apologizing for not being able to make it that day. They’d also managed to share a few more evening meals together. Dean had been shocked that Cas had never been to the Cuban place his friend Charlie had told him was a must, and in exchange Cas had insisted Dean try the Spanish restaurant a few blocks away.

Sunday afternoons quickly evolved from coffee and shopping into brunch and shopping, with the eating portion of the day sometimes dragging on far longer than the grocery buying portion. Neither of them had referred to any of their meetups as _dates_ again, since Dean’s first casual use of the term when they’d first met. Cas wasn’t ready to pin that label to anything they’d done together yet, at least not until Dean showed any sign that he also thought of them as dates. Their relationship became comfortable, routine. And Cas was fully appreciative of that fact. The novelty of having a close friend he could call when he needed a break from the drudgery of life had definitely not worn off.

With Impala, he’d found a burst of inspiration to write again. They’d firmly moved from a beta reading relationship into a more collaborative writing partnership. In the past they’d occasionally listened to the other’s frustrations over a tricky plot point, or helped each other work through a bout of writer’s block, but they actively supported each other through the entire writing process now. He’d actually invited Impala to read along as he wrote, and every morning he’d wake up to new notes and encouragement. It had become their nightly routine, _write first then read_. They’d compete with one another to remain focused while swapping comments and anecdotes on Discord, while simultaneously working on their respective drafts. At the end of the night, when they were both too exhausted to continue writing, they’d swap stories and read what the other had written. It was exciting, and new, and Cas wasn’t yet sure where it was all leading, but he could tell Impala shared his enthusiasm for their new process.

After only three weeks, he’d nearly finished the sequel to the fic he wouldn’t be able to publish for months yet. During that time, he and Impala had also polished up their Pinefest fics and sent them in the moment the submission window opened. Art claims would open on Saturday, and Cas sincerely hoped his fic would be claimed the first day. The stress of the claims process, the worry his story wouldn’t appeal to any of the registered artists, and the anxiety over the whole ordeal dragging out for days rattled him every year, no matter how many times he’d gone through it in the past.

The anxiety must’ve bled over into his regular life, because the Friday before art claims, Dean had expressed concern for Cas’s well-being.

“You feeling all right, Cas?” Dean had asked about halfway through their lunch break. They were sitting in the library office at the big work table eating ham sandwiches and mac and cheese, and Cas realized he hadn’t said anything, nor even looked up from his tray in at least ten minutes. When he glanced up at Dean, he failed to control the panic in his eyes, and Dean held up a placating hand. “You seem kinda preoccupied, is all. I’m just worried about you.”

“Oh, uh, no. I’m fine, really. I’m waiting on some feedback on something I wrote, and it’s always a nerve-wracking process.”

Dean’s brow pinched together for a moment, before he forcibly smoothed it out into a neutral expression. Cas only now realized that after that first week, they rarely talked about writing anymore. For all Dean knew, Cas had reconsidered everything and had submitted something for publication. Oddly, Dean’s reaction had seemed _hurt_ over the assumed fact.

“So are you wooing agents again, or just collaborating with your fancy author pals?”

Yep, Dean was hurt, if the bite to his tone was anything to judge by. There had to be a way to smooth this over without completely imploding his entire relationship with Dean. They’d managed to avoid stumbling over something so silly all this time, and for the first time in nearly a month Cas’s concerns reared their ugly heads. He knew that eventually he would grow complacent about casually sharing details of his life with Dean, and he could feel a moment of reckoning was coming. He only hoped he could hold it off for a little while longer.

“What? Oh no, I’m thinking about commissioning some artwork for a story, for my own personal satisfaction. I’m waiting to hear back from the artist to see whether they’re willing to accept it.”

There, that was vague enough to dodge the whole fandom conversation he’d been putting off with Dean. The comment that he’d meant to heal the sudden rift he’d thought he’d broken open between them had stunned Dean into silence. He gave him a strange look, but eventually nodded in acceptance of Cas’s excuse and went back to his lunch. Cas watched him for a minute or two as he processed it, and came to a resolution.

“Well, if you need to get your mind off it, I saw there was a local brewery walking tour tomorrow.”

“Are you inviting me to go with you?” Cas asked, surprised at the random addition to their usual schedule of not-quite-dates.

Dean shrugged, looking a bit self-conscious as he picked at the remaining macaroni on his tray and avoided looking at Cas. “Just a suggestion. I get it if you don’t wanna go, but it’s supposed to be a gorgeous day, and several of the breweries are offering a tasting menu along with the beer samples. They still had tickets available when I looked into it. Thought you might need a distraction, if your art thing’s got you so tense you haven’t said a dozen words since I got here.”

Cas frowned at that. He supposed he had been rather stony with Dean, but that had nothing to do with Dean at all. It didn’t even really have to do with _him._ Even more than sharing his rough draft with Impala, he felt like art claims was the first real judgment of his story. Of course Impala would want to read his fic, but would anyone _else?_

As much as he’d love to spend a lovely early autumn afternoon walking around downtown with Dean, he knew he’d make terrible company. And he didn’t want to be out in public when the artist match confirmation email came through. He realized he was frowning and shaking his head when Dean’s face fell.

“I get it,” Dean said, forcing a smile. “You probably already got plans. Not like I don’t hog up every other day of the week with you, right?”

“No, Dean, that’s not it at all. I just don’t think I’d make very good company this weekend.”

“Even Sunday?” Dean asked. “You bailing on brunchery shopping, too?”

Cas had to laugh at that. “Of course not. I still need to eat, after all. If I haven’t heard back from the artist by Sunday morning, I promise to let it go and at least enjoy our usual outing together.”

Dean still looked disappointed, frowning slightly even as he nodded his acceptance. “Okay, I can live with that. But don’t let yourself get all broody and weird sitting home alone all day. I’m always on call for emergency writer paranoia, if you need a friendly ear to chew for a while.”

Oddly that had been the most comforting thing Dean could’ve possibly said, and for the first time all day, he felt the anxiety over art claims begin to thaw, just a little bit. Simultaneously, the warm little nugget of affection for Dean that had been slowly growing over the last few weeks gave off a blast of heat through his chest.

“Thank you, Dean. I might take you up on that,” he replied, smiling fondly at Dean. “Have I mentioned lately how much I appreciate you as a person?”

Dean blushed for the first time in weeks, clearly taken aback. It was about the softest exchange they’d had, and shifted Dean’s mood entirely, breaking the tension between them.

“Yeah, uh,” Dean cleared his throat and continued. “Same. I mean, I appreciate you, too, Cas.”

The rest of the day ran far more smoothly than Cas could’ve ever hoped for. If nothing else, Dean was there for him. That meant more to him than Dean could ever know. The unconditional support, even when he had no idea what had been bothering Cas in the first place, was more than he’d ever had from a friend.

Well, he still had Impala. As he said his goodbyes to Dean in the parking lot after school, Dean asked him again if he’d reconsider their Saturday outing, but he accepted that Cas needed to brood for at least a little while before he’d be fit for human company on Sunday. Dean said he could live with that, even though he gave him a sad little wave as he drove off. Cas drove home eager to talk to Impala, to share everything he couldn’t share with Dean, and commiserate over their mutual anxiety over Pinefest art claims.


	11. Chapter 11

If Dean didn’t know better, he’d wonder if Cas’s nerves weren’t over an art commission, but over the Pinefest art claims. Dean had bought tickets to the brewery tour event several weeks ago, knowing he’d be worked up and miserable if he had to sit at home all day watching art claims happen live. He’d been through enough writing challenges to know how the process went, and even if it took a day or two to be claimed, every author would eventually be paired with an artist. Worrying about it never helped, and Dean knew the only way to take his mind off it was through distraction. And there was no better distraction than good company and good beer.

Back in Kansas, he would’ve spent the day at the Roadhouse, joking with Jo and Ellen, serving beer if they were busy or parking himself on a bar stool and drinking it if they weren’t. He hadn’t found anywhere even remotely close to the Roadhouse since he’d moved, so he’d done the next best thing he could find. He’d bought two tickets to the brewery tour expecting Cas to easily agree to going with him. When he’d walked into Cas’s office at lunchtime only to find him already in a withdrawn and gloomy mood, he began to doubt that springing the idea on his friend at the last minute was the way he should’ve approached this whole situation.

They’d had their standing lunch dates, and their standing brunch dates, but neither of them had actually called their relationship what Dean suspected it was growing into. Sure, he could use the distraction of an afternoon walking around town with Cas, occasionally pausing to have a few drinks and some light snacks to take his mind of Pinefest claims, but he’d also been quietly hoping to turn the excursion into a real date. If Cas was amenable to that, of course.

But of course, he wasn’t. Which left Dean holding two tickets to a half day event and nobody to share them with. He’d texted Sam when he got home, asking if he and Rowena would like to have them, but they’d already left town for a weekend at the beach. Short of knocking on his neighbors’ doors until he found someone to take them off his hands, Dean was running out of options. And just giving the tickets away wouldn’t solve his problem of getting him out of the house and away from his laptop until claims were over. He tended to obsessively sit there hitting refresh until he was claimed, and that just wasn’t healthy.

Dean made himself a grilled cheese sandwich and slumped down on the sofa with a beer. He maybe had one more option, and with that thought he opened his laptop and logged into Discord. If Charlie wasn’t busy, or wasn’t the type to obsessively watch claims unfold, then she might appreciate the free walking beer buffet. He went straight to her dm’s without even glancing at the Pinefest boards.

 **Impala67:** Hey Charles, are you busy tomorrow?

It took a few minutes for her to reply, but he hadn’t even been sure she was online. He’d been prepared to wait all night to hear back from her. It was Friday, after all, and unlike him, Charlie actually had a social life.

 **QueenOfMoons:** What, you wanna have a misery party for claims? Double the boredom, double the stress?

 **Impala67:** The opposite, actually. I got two tickets to the Brewery Crawl tomorrow afternoon, and I thought you might want an excuse to get out of the house.

Charlie started typing a reply, and then stopped. Then nothing for a full minute before the app indicated she finally resumed typing.

 **QueenOfMoons:** Okay, not that I’m not grateful you asked me, but you did not buy those tickets for me, Dean. Who do I need to give a stern talking to for standing you up? Wait, it’s not your sexy librarian, is it? DID HE ACTUALLY TURN YOU DOWN? Or did you just chicken out of asking him? ARE YOU THE ONE I NEED TO GIVE THE STERN TALKING TO?

 **Impala67:** Fine, okay? Yeah, I asked Cas and he already had something going on tomorrow. I probably shouldn’t have waited until the night before to spring it on him, but I can’t exactly be mad about it.

 **QueenOfMoons:** That’s just sad, Dean. You need to plan your big gestures in advance.

 **Impala67:** I bought the tickets two weeks ago, and it’s not like I’m proposing to the guy. It’s just a walking beer tour.

 **QueenOfMoons:** Still, you shouldn’t assume the guy mopes around his house all day waiting for you to invite him out. He’s got a life, and that pub crawl is like five hours or something, isn’t it? Did you expect him to give up half his Saturday with only a day’s notice?

Dean grumbled under his breath, but he had to admit she had a point. He guzzled the rest of his beer and replied in a huff, because of course he couldn’t just let it go.

 **Impala67:** Yeah, I get that now, Charlie. Thanks a lot. It’s just everything else we’ve done together has just sorta happened. It’s not like we planned any of it.

 **QueenOfMoons:** Ooh I almost forgot about your accidental grocery dates. So you’re seeing the guy six days out of seven already, and you thought he’d jump at the chance to give you the entire seventh?

 **Impala67:** Shut up. You know what I meant. Do you wanna go or not? I can probably find someone in my building who’d take the tickets.

 **QueenOfMoons:** Of course I’ll go. Those things cost a fortune and they were sold out before I got paid last week. Who am I to turn down a bunch of free indie beer, and the chance to mingle with the locals? Plus I hate claims day. The Discord is one big ball of anxiety, and I’ve spent the last three years handholding newbie authors through the stress. I deserve a break, too.

 **Impala67:** Meet you out front of my place at noon then?

 **QueenOfMoons:** Deal. But you’re gonna have to tell me about your librarian, now, you realize this.

Dean sighed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid her questions. She’d been the one he’d turned to for advice weeks ago, but he’d been dodging every attempt she’d made to follow up on how things were going. There was a good chance she’d pry every last detail out of him, especially if he let his guard down and drank too much. That would be all too easy to do on a brewery tour.

 **Impala67:** We’ll see. Now I’m gonna go write since I’ll probably be too drunk to type tomorrow night.

 **QueenOfMoons:** LOL! Good luck. See you tomorrow. And thanks for the invite. I owe you one. :)

He sighed and set his laptop aside. It wasn’t just Cas that Charlie would insist on asking about. It was Feathers, too. She had to know that they were still collaborating, talking nearly every night at the very least, and writing together more often than not. Feathers had already made a couple of tumblr posts referencing conversations they’d had, without giving any spoilers of what they’re both writing, but making it perfectly clear that they were effectively writing partners now. The more Dean thought about it, the more surprised he felt that Charlie hadn’t poked at him sooner to ask what was going on between them.

If Dean knew what was going on between them, or even between him and Cas, he’d gladly tell Charlie without her having to wait until he was tipsy and distracted to pounce on him with an interrogation. Things had been going great on both fronts, actually. Not that he’d told Cas the whole truth about his fandom life, nor Feathers about his real life, but he’d definitely made inroads with both of them. And the feeling that he was still cheating on both of them had only grown stronger over the last week or two.

Dean made a disgusted noise and pushed himself up off the sofa. At least he could admit to himself he was avoiding talking to Feathers yet. He’d told Charlie he planned to write tonight, to use all that pent up energy over claims to make loads of angsty new words. But even the prospect of writing some good old fashioned blood-soaked monster case fic couldn’t hold his attention with the threat of talking about his personal life hanging over his head. He didn’t even have an afternoon hanging out with Cas to look forward to for the sake of distraction.

He bumbled around his apartment for a few minutes, going through his mail and tossing all of it into the recycling bin, sorting laundry, giving the bathroom a spot clean, and watering the sad little plant he’d tried to keep in his office at school before it had started wilting from lack of sunlight. He took pity on it after its first weekend in the dark and brought it home to nurse it back to health. It was still a little limp and wilty, but it was beginning to perk up now that it got plenty of regular light.

“I know how you feel, buddy,” he told the plant and stood there for a moment frowning at it. Eventually he sighed, giving up and going to the kitchen for another beer before returning to the sofa and glaring at his laptop while he took a few slow sips.

“Dumbass fic won’t write itself,” he said, a little pep talk to himself that worked well enough for him to pull the computer back into his lap.

Almost out of habit, rather than going straight to his open doc, he went to his Discord dm’s with Feathers. Feathers was already online, and he’d been busy.

 **FicFeathers:** Hello, Imp. I’m getting an early start on writing tonight, since we’ll all probably be too emotionally drained after claims to write tomorrow night. :’D

 **FicFeathers:** I took that advice you gave me last night, and added the paragraph to the diner scene in the last chapter. Let me know if you think it works.

 **FicFeathers:** I guess you had to work late or something. I’ll be around, writing in the other tab, if you want to chat later.

All three messages had been sent within the last hour. Dean felt a little bad for avoiding him, since it wasn’t his fault Dean was being a grump. He hadn’t abandoned Feathers, at least, and it’s not like they had a set time to meet every night. Like his arrangement with Cas, they’d just sort of fallen into this routine without any real discussion about it. But he was there now, and he couldn’t keep Feathers waiting any longer.

 **Impala67:** Hey, yeah, sorry I’m late. It’s been a long week. I’m gonna go check out that paragraph now.

He did as he said he would, and found Feathers working away on his fic. Once he read over the changes, he went back to Discord, not wanting to interrupt Feathers’ train of thought.

 **Impala67:** Yeah, that’s perfect, Feathers. I’m gonna go see what’s what in my fic, but the way my head is today, I’m not sure how much I’ll be writing tonight.

He was about to tab over to his fic doc when Feathers appeared and began typing.

 **FicFeathers:** So you don’t have better plans than sitting at home writing on a Friday night either. ;)

There were two ways Dean could take this, and he was in kind of a fuck it all sort of mood. He didn’t even think twice about taking that risk.

 **Impala67:** And miss our nightly rendezvous? What kind of a man do you take me for?

 **FicFeathers:** One who hopefully has more of a social life than I do. At least with claims happening tomorrow.

 **Impala67:** Yeah, claims is my cue to leave the house and do something to keep from having an anxiety attack.

There was a long pause before Feathers replied again, and several false starts on typing in between.

 **FicFeathers:** You’re not planning on maniacally refreshing your email tomorrow, then?

 **Impala67:** Been there, done that, got a really awful t-shirt. I’ll meet my artist when I meet them, you know? And I don’t really want to know if I was claimed early or late or somewhere in the middle. If I’m not around to see the drama, it’s like it never happened.

 **FicFeathers:** That’s a remarkably healthy attitude.

 **Impala67:** I don’t know about that. I’m going out drinking with a friend of mine. There’s probably healthier coping mechanisms out there. But at least I won’t spend the whole day glued to the computer getting nothing done.

There was another long pause, and Dean began to wonder if Feathers had gone back to writing, if their conversation was over for now. Feathers surprised him again.

 **FicFeathers:** I’d been looking forward to commiserating with you throughout the ordeal, but I understand.

 **Impala67:** Aw, you gonna watch all the drama go down? Glutton for punishment, or do you have a kink you haven’t found a way to write into a fic yet?

 **FicFeathers:** Hell, no. I just know I’ll feel better as soon as I know I’ve been claimed.

Dean couldn’t do it himself, but he knew exactly how to make Feathers feel better right now.

 **Impala67:** Dude, your story is awesome, and whatever artist gets your fic will be the lucky one, okay? They’re probably over in the artist chat right now duking it out over who gets your fic.

 **FicFeathers:** You wrote about COWBOYS. Someone will claim yours right away, too.

 **Impala67:** Possibly. But I won’t know, and I won’t care, because I’ll be out having fun. And when I get home all worn out and happy, I’m sure there’ll be an email telling me all about it. :’D

They talked for a little while longer, and eventually went back to writing. Dean managed a few hundred words before giving up and telling Feathers he was claiming his reading break early that night. He dove into Feathers new words and it almost immediately improved his mood. They talked again when Dean left him a few notes, but eventually Dean begged off, claiming exhaustion after a long week.

 **FicFeathers:** I’m sorry you won’t be around tomorrow. I admit, I was rather looking forward to enduring the process with you. I think you would’ve made it bearable.

For just a minute, Dean felt guilty. He hadn’t even thought about Feathers when he’d started making his failed plans with Cas weeks ago. He hadn’t once considered that Feathers might need his support. The guy had always seemed so collected and confident about his writing, even during the course of their evolving beta relationship. He sat there rereading Feathers’ message over and over again, feeling like he’d officially blown it with both Feathers and Cas all in one go. There was nothing he could really do about it now, though. He couldn’t go back in time and ask Feathers how he was spending claims day. He couldn’t go back in time and ask Cas out a week or two earlier, before he bought the tickets. He’d just assumed, with both of them, and he’d thoroughly made an ass out of himself all around.

 **Impala67:** I didn’t even think about that when I was making plans, and I feel like shit about it now. You probably would’ve made the process bearable, too. Fun, even.

 **FicFeathers:** There’s always next year.

 **Impala67:** That’s true, too. Okay, I swear, next year, no matter what, we can endure claims day together. Deal?

 **FicFeathers:** Deal.


	12. Chapter 12

Cas had been on a roll, riding the high of claims excitement through a marathon writing session. Impala hadn’t checked in at his usual time, but he hadn’t let that get to him. He’d banged out close to 2,000 new words before the Discord notification cracked through his concentration, followed by Anonymous Squirrel popping in to the doc he was working in for a couple of minutes, and then a second Discord notification. He still managed to finish the scene he’d been nearly done with before tabbing over and reading Impala’s comments.

He frowned with concern, learning Impala had apparently had a bad day and wasn’t feeling well enough to write. His first instinct was to make Impala laugh, to try and cheer him up, until the man dropped the bombshell that he’d be abandoning Cas on the one day he’d been counting on having Impala to share his anxiety with. Cas sat there for a moment, letting the knowledge that Impala had made other plans without ever mentioning it to him sink in, before getting over himself. It wasn’t like Cas knew anything about Impala’s life. Not really. They typed at each other and kept each other company while they wrote, but they’d never really had a real conversation about their personal lives. Cas hadn’t exactly been entitled to know Impala’s social calendar, and feeling hurt about the fact was, he admitted to himself, rather childish of him. That admission didn’t necessarily make it hurt any less.

At least Impala admitted he felt bad for bailing on him without any notification, and promised to spend the next claims day hanging out with him. It was only a year away. Small comfort, since Cas was still on his own for this year. This was the moment his brain chose to remind him that he’d had an offer for something that would’ve proven entirely distracting. An offer he’d turned down not once, but _twice_. Dean had given him a second chance to take that brewery tour with him, and he’d seemed entirely disappointed at being turned down. Cas had fully intended on spending the day with Impala, though. He supposed he shouldn’t have assumed the man would want to spend the day typing nervous missives back and forth when he had a real friend in real life that he could spend time with instead.

When Impala signed off for the night, with no hope of chatting with him again until after claims, Cas shut his laptop. His will and drive to write had evaporated. He sat there, staring at the wall, wondering where he’d gone wrong. He’d been so careful in letting his relationship with Dean grow naturally, and they’d been spending so much time together that Cas had trusted in the solidity of his feelings for him. Neither of them had talked about what the future might hold for them, or mentioned any interest in relabeling their regular outings as dates, or discussed the potential for more than friendship between them. Now Cas had to wonder why that was.

He truly did like Dean. He could see the potential for a relationship with him, but it would require him coming clean about his writing, and his deep involvement in the Unnatural fandom. He still wasn’t sure their relationship would survive that-- not that he’d actually pushed to test that theory. They had all the time in the world. But that excuse didn’t feel like the whole truth.

The truth was that, for all the limitations they’d placed on themselves, Cas had spent the last few years gradually falling for a man he’d never met, that he honestly hadn’t harbored any hope of ever meeting. He cherished the time he got to spend with Impala, even if much of their lives and who they were as people outside of fandom was cloaked in mystery. In every way that counted, he felt he knew Impala, that they shared a bond he couldn’t even fully explain or define. In the deepest part of his heart, he knew he was pining away for the man, or the casual mention of Impala going out with a friend wouldn’t have hit him so hard.

Cas couldn’t deny it any longer. He was very likely hopelessly in love with Impala, and that was the only thing holding him back from inviting Dean into his life more fully. For every heart-stopping smile that Dean gave him, for every instance that Dean made him laugh, or showed him care, or prodded him to share more about himself, Cas always knew that giving in and fully opening up to Dean would mean losing Impala. He knew it was selfish of him, but he also knew he couldn’t keep both of them. It wasn’t fair to any of them, himself included, to keep holding them both at arm’s length. The only thing worse than that would be having to choose between them. If things continued like they were currently going, it was likely he’d lose both of them.

With that gloomy thought, Cas dragged himself off to bed. He’d have all day tomorrow to worry about stuff, and at least he’d have the rest of the Pinefest server to keep him company in his misery.

His morning run had given him too much time to let his thoughts wander down dark alleys. Cas persisted through his usual route, though, trying to focus on the town around him waking up for a Saturday filled with family outings and first dates and life in general. He felt like he was just running through it, his headphones on listening to his own soundtrack, instead of truly letting himself participate in it. He waved to the occasional jogger he passed going in the opposite direction to him, and it constituted the most human connection he made in the half hour he spent running before returning sweaty and spent to his house to hide away from the world again. Even online, surrounded by people he considered friends, he was still hiding. He’d spent years getting to know these people without allowing them to know him. Everything in his life rang just a bit hollow.

Cas took a shower, made himself a light lunch, and sat down on the sofa where his laptop waited for him. To think that twenty four hours earlier he’d been eagerly anticipating this annual ritual, and now he’d completely soured on it. He glared as his laptop, as if it had been the source of all his current woes. He’d been dreading the drama of the claims process, but now, ironically, that had nothing on the drama he’d created in his own life.

It took him longer than he’d like to admit to work up the nerve to open his laptop. He couldn’t face the Pinefest server yet, and instead went to his fic document to see the notes that Impala had left for him last night. They’d started out rather terse, but it was clear the more Impala had gotten into the story, the more relaxed and open his comments had become. Reading his notes was like watching a flower bloom, until Impala’s full personality once again shone through in his words. The final comment he’d left, not about the fic itself but simply a little note to mark the place where he’d stopped reading, sent a flutter through Cas’s heart.

 **Impala67:** I didn’t know how much I needed to read this tonight. This is turning out to be a really beautiful story, Feathers. You’re doing all the characters justice, and it pretty much made my whole day. Whenever you see this, I hope it gives you even half the satisfaction you deserve to feel for it. Good luck on claims, by the way. You’ll probably be picked first and then spend the rest of the day floating on clouds and unable to write. :’D

Cas doubted it, but he laughed at Impala’s attempt at cheering him up anyway. How could he ever consider any course of action that would jeopardize their friendship? Things that were so easy between them, like this little comment that had the power to shift his entire mood, it was something he couldn’t bear the thought of losing from his life.

But then again, Impala was out on the town with a friend, probably having a grand old time and not even thinking about him sitting home alone and clinging to the tiniest crumbs of a relationship. He had no idea what Dean was doing, if he’d decided to go on that brewery tour without him, or if he was also sitting at home, alone, moping because Cas had declined his invitation. That didn’t exactly sit well with Cas, either.

He eventually opened Discord and resigned himself to feigning nonchalance and doing what he could to help maintain order on the boards. At least he’d have QueenOfMoons to keep him company. If he was lucky, they might even have a moment or two here and there to commiserate in dm’s, even if it wasn’t quite the same as talking with Impala would’ve been.

The author boards were surprisingly quiet, and he suspected most of the action was happening on the artist channels. Things likely wouldn’t begin picking up among the authors until the first claims notifications started going out via email, and the as yet unclaimed authors began to worry. He decided to take matters into his own hands and sent a dm to the Queen to see if he’d missed anything yet.

 **FicFeathers:** The author channel is unusually quiet this year. How have things been going?

The Queen didn’t reply right away, and he figured she was busy talking some other poor author off a ledge. He’d surely hear all about it soon enough, and decided to check out some of his other social media. Twitter was a Saturday morning wasteland, outside of a few people posting Pinefest claims excitement and more #caturday posts than he could count. At least they brought a smile to his face as he switched over to tumblr. It was an effective way to kill a few hours.

 **QueenOfMoons:** Sorry, Feathers, but I got invited out by a friend. We’re doing this pub crawl thing so we don’t have to think about claims :’D

 **QueenOfMoons:** I’m posting a montage of my gradual descent into debauched drunkenness on tumblr tho, if you need a distraction. Good luck!

Cas frowned at that for a moment, and then tabbed back over to tumblr to see if she’d posted anything yet. He couldn’t imagine she’d be all that drunk yet, being only just after noon. He also couldn’t imagine she’d post with any regularity if she was out trying to enjoy herself with a friend. It could be worth the distraction, though, knowing her persistence to stick with an idea once she started. It was one of the things he admired most about her as a person. The chance to maybe see what she looked like in real life was also admittedly intriguing to him. 

It didn’t take him long to scroll back far enough to see her first post of the day. A full-length mirror selfie, dressed casually in jeans and an Unnatural t-shirt, her auburn hair brushing her shoulders, and a face that he could’ve sworn he recognized. He wondered if it was entirely possible that he’d seen her around town. It wasn’t a huge city, after all, and after living there for several years he found he recognized a lot of people just from hanging out in his usual haunts-- the library, the tea shop, the bookstore, or even just walking along the Promenade by the river. He couldn’t quite place where he’d seen her, though, despite squinting at her photo for several minutes. Eventually he scrolled down and read the caption below.

_Ready for claims day? I’m not. Instead of wallowing in nerves, I’m being dragged out on the town. Stay tuned for the progressive deconstruction of the Queen via the steady application of alcohol. If we document it, we can call it science! Peace out, bitches!_

Cas laughed at that, until he realized he could’ve been in her shoes. He could’ve been bar hopping with Dean instead of vicariously experiencing it through the Queen. In that moment, noon or not, he decided he could have his own party. He might not have a fine selection of locally crafted microbrews, or a catered spread of hors d’oeuvres, but he did have a case of beer in the fridge and a box of frozen mini quiches he could stick in the oven. That decided it for him, and he set his laptop aside and marched into the kitchen feeling confident in a decision for the first time all day. Impala was right again, of course, that nobody knew how to do motivation like the Queen.

The kitchen warmed up quickly and filled with the aroma of cheesy, eggy goodness while Cas leaned against the counter slowly sipping at a beer. He’d even poured it in a glass in an attempt to feel like he was getting the true microbrewery experience.

When his snack was done baking, he plated up the little delicacies, grabbed himself another beer, and returned to the sofa to wait for the Queen’s next missive. If he spent an hour or two scrolling through tumblr and reblogging a few posts here and there, it was only to keep from refreshing the Queen’s blog every few minutes waiting for her to update. That was exactly the sort of obsessive behavior he’d been trying to avoid with the claims notifications, as well, and transferring his unhealthy obsession from one website to another wouldn’t have accomplished anything. When he finally did check her blog again, it was to discover several new posts, each apparently with a photo taken at a different bar. He quickly scrolled past them, fully intending to read them all in the order she’d posted them for best effect.

The earliest post was a picture of her holding up a beer, standing at a bar he vaguely recognized. He’d jogged past it dozens of times, occasionally glancing through the windows, but never having been inside. It had always struck him as more of a loud-music-and-dancing sort of venue than the quieter places he typically frequented for dinner. The Queen looked like she was thoroughly enjoying the experience, clinking glasses with and giving a huge grin to whoever was behind the camera. Like the selfie she’d posted earlier, the picture was also captioned.

_We’re off to a promising start. The pilsner here is light and sweet, my drinking companion advised me. It just tastes like beer to me. Drinking companion scoffed at my crude assessment. Let’s see how he feels after round two. Oh, and I spotted that hottie from the bookstore across the room, and we made eye contact. Drinking companion thinks I might have a chance with her. His words: she’s hot for you, dumbass, go flirt with her. Maybe after a few more beers…_

Suddenly Cas recalled where he’d seen the Queen before--at Pride. She volunteered at a booth that distributed LGBTQ themed nerd accessories like rainbow hued gaming dice and comics with queer protagonists. It seemed entirely fitting, now that he’d finally made the connection. With that knowledge, he continued scrolling to her next post.

This one was a more covert selfie, at a different bar, with huge copper stills visible in the background. Again, Cas recognized the location, and he’d even eaten in their restaurant a time or two. It was practically walking distance to his house, and it finally registered to him that the Queen was on the same brewery tour that Dean had invited him on. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved that he’d declined the invitation now, out of a secret fear that the Queen would’ve somehow recognized him and known who he was, and would blow his cover in front of Dean, or if he was disappointed at missing out on a chance to meet her in person, even if he would’ve had to lie about the fact that he already knew her on the internet, in fandom. He spent far too long trying to imagine a scenario in which he could introduce himself to her with Dean in tow, and utterly failing to come up with anything that didn’t make him look and sound like a complete idiot. Eventually he abandoned the urge to run out of the house in an attempt to casually bump into her somewhere along the walking tour, and resumed reading through her posts. It was the best he could do under the circumstances, as disappointed as he was in himself over it.

After struggling through that series of startling revelations, Cas finally took a closer look at the photo. The Queen was framed in close up, wide-eyed and sipping a darker ale in a portion of the image. On closer inspection, the main focus of the photo seemed to be a woman standing in the background, over the Queen’s shoulder. Cas recognized her immediately as Gilda, who owned the bookstore he frequented. And to his infinite horror, she was smiling as she talked with Dean. Cas did a double take, lifting his laptop up to be sure he was seeing it correctly, that his brain wasn’t playing tricks on him. But no, it was definitely Dean. He must’ve decided to take the brewery tour alone. Cas frowned at that, wondering if it really wasn’t too late to find him and join him. But if the Queen knew Gilda, and her “drinking companion” she mentioned had encouraged the Queen’s flirtation with her, then perhaps the Queen also knew Dean. The thought sent him reeling, until he recovered enough to remind himself that coincidences weren’t unheard of, and this was likely just the biggest and most personally shocking coincidence of his life.

He let himself calm down enough to read her caption.

_The drinking companion tells me that this is a quality ale, and left me here on my own to learn to appreciate it properly while he went to play wingman. He’s actually volunteered to run reconnaissance with Bookstore Hottie on my behalf and gauging her interest. Let’s just say that the rest of my afternoon appears to be looking up._

Cas nearly dropped his laptop. He must be mistaken. The Queen couldn’t mean that _Dean_ was her wingman, surely. He couldn’t even conceive of how the two of them could’ve met. Dean had only lived here for a few months, and he’d told Cas again and again that the only friend he’d had in town before he’d moved there was a woman named Charlie… Charlie, as in a nickname for someone named Celeste, or Charlotte. Like the Queen.

And if Dean knew the Queen, and knew her before he moved to town, there was a zero percent chance that he wasn’t also at least aware of the Unnatural fandom, if not an active part of it. You couldn’t know the Queen and _not_ be at least tangentially involved in the fandom.

Cas’s entire universe threatened to implode for a good five minutes. He’d thought back on everything he’d learned about Dean, everything he’d shared freely, and everything he’d hesitated about sharing. Most especially, he thought back to their early conversations about writing. His heart raced, first with the weeks of agony he’d put himself through for nothing. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have avoided telling Dean about who he was in the fandom. Their entire relationship could’ve gone in a completely different direction from the start. He’d only known the man a month, but it suddenly felt like a month wasted in worry. Maybe Dean wouldn’t end their friendship at the discovery he was only a lowly fanfic author. Maybe Dean was secretly hiding a similar truth about himself, possibly for nearly identical reasons.

Despite that thrilling revelation, Cas reminded himself to take this slowly. Dean was likely already in the fandom, but Cas still had no idea who he was, or even if they knew each other online already. He almost wished that Impala was around to ask if he knew anyone named Dean. Cas certainly didn’t, but like the Queen--or _Charlie_ , he should say--he knew most people only by the names they chose to go by online. Dean could be _anyone_.

His mind screeched to a halt at the thought of Impala, too. Would he be happy for Cas if he thought he had a shot at a real relationship with Dean, or would he be hurt that Cas had found someone else? And again, Cas had to stop himself from jumping ahead. There was suddenly an overwhelming amount of information to process that hadn’t existed five minutes ago, but for once, taking his time and sorting through it all seemed like the only proper course of action. He scrolled up to Charlie’s next post.

This one wasn’t even in a bar. It was a short video clip of her standing on the sidewalk downtown, sighing into the camera and rolling her eyes.

_Looks like I temporarily lost my drinking companion. He’s busy geeking out over some old car, and seems to have forgotten we have more beer to drink._

Cas recognized Gilda’s laugh before Charlie panned the camera over to catch her biting her lip and gazing fondly at Charlie. She then turned the camera around completely to show an old red convertible parked by the roadside, and Dean chatting animatedly with the car’s owner. It was hard to make out what they were saying, and Cas had to watch it several times with the volume turned all the way up to be sure of what he heard.

“Yeah, mine’s a hard top, four door. And a 67, not a 65. I dig the convertible, but I wouldn’t trade my baby for--”

And then the video cut off. Cas frantically tried to decipher what Dean had said, but he didn’t know enough about cars to understand any of it. If it had been a Mustang, like the characters on Unnatural drove, he might’ve recognized it, but he was essentially hopeless otherwise. He made a mental note to ask Dean about cars over brunch tomorrow and moved on to Charlie’s next post.

Dean was clearly the photographer in this picture, and it appeared that Gilda had officially joined their party. It was also clear that all three of them were well on the way to intoxication. The three of them mugged for the camera, making faces that were intended to look serious and dramatic, but only appeared comically overblown in their drunken state. They each held a pint of stout up for the camera, and a second image below, likely taken seconds later, showed all three of them cracking up and trying not to spill their drinks. Charlie’s caption also reflected just how much they’d had to drink.

_Can you believe it took this much alcohol to get me to talk to bookstore hottie? But it looks like we’re dating now, thanks to the best drinking companion a girl could’ve asked for. :’D_

Cas finally glanced at the clock, and was shocked to see it was coming up on five o’clock. The walking tour was surely nearly done by now, if any of them could still walk in their current state. Which meant that Dean would be walking home again soon… or staggering, as the case may be. He wondered if he should call Dean for a hot minute before remembering that Dean likely wouldn’t be in any state to talk about anything. He could wait for tomorrow, for their standing brunch date. Cas had more questions than he knew what to do with, and the delay would hopefully give him enough time to sort them all out.

He scrolled up to see if there were any more posts, hit refresh, and discovered one final photo. Charlie had evidently arrived home while he’d been reassessing his entire life to this point. She posted one final picture, but it wasn’t a mirror selfie this time. She and Gilda sat together on a sofa, their heads leaned together as they smiled up at the camera.

_All thanks to my drinking companion, and sorry for abandoning you after you were nice enough to invite me along, but I think you’d agree I ended up with the better deal here. I owe you, buddy._

That’s when it finally hit Cas, that Dean hadn’t just casually brought up the brewery tour. He’d probably bought the tickets weeks ago. When Cas turned him down, Dean offered his ticket to the only other friend he had in town. That could’ve been him, spending an afternoon with Dean. But he also realized that if he’d said yes, if he’d gone with Dean, he never would’ve figured any of this out. They would’ve had fun together like they always did, sure, but they would’ve continued dodging the hidden halves of their lives. They never would’ve talked about Charlie, or the fandom, or any of it. He wondered how long they could’ve dragged this out if he hadn’t turned Dean down and then sat at home, alone, sulking about it all day. The thought stopped him cold, and he resolved to finally have a real conversation with Dean, about everything.

It terrified him more than anything he’d ever contemplated doing in the past. Putting himself out there in the publishing world, and then deciding to walk away from it entirely had both paled in comparison to what coming clean with Dean could mean. This could be life changing, for better or worse. At least he was now sure of one thing. He wouldn’t lose Dean over who he was, or the writing he’d devoted his life to. It was a strangely comforting thought.

Once again, he wished Impala was online. If he could come clean with Dean, maybe he could do the same with Impala. But that would also have to be a conversation for another day, when they were both sober and fully present. In some ways, that was the more terrifying prospect. He’d just met Dean, but Impala had been part of his life for years, now. Regardless of the rush of fresh emotions he felt for Dean, it didn’t come close to what he’d long established with Impala.

Cas sat there until the sun had set and he was all but sitting in the dark, bar the soft glow from his computer monitor, still open to the photos of Charlie with Gilda and Dean hamming it up for the camera and then laughing hysterically. Rather than turn on a light, he shut the computer in a daze and stumbled off to bed. He was definitely not in any sort of a state to make decisions, or even chat with anyone online. No, he could handle all of that in the morning.

In all the excitement, he realized as he dozed off, he remembered that he hadn’t even checked his email once. If he’d been paired with an artist, that could wait for morning, too. For his money, this had been the best claims day he’d ever endured.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean had complained to Charlie when she’d hauled out her phone and demanded he act as her official photographer. He hadn’t wanted to have his face plastered all over her tumblr. He only reluctantly agreed when she promised she’d only refer to him as her “drinking companion,” and not even use his real name, let alone his online handle.

“I swear, I won’t post anything that might embarrass you, handmaiden. And if you can help me get a date with Gilda, I’ll make you look like a knight in shining armor, too.”

Dean had grumbled out, “At least that’s an upgrade from handmaiden.”

By the third picture he agreed to let her post, he’d long since stopped caring. He was having such a good time being out in public with people he could talk about Unnatural with and not worry that he sounded like some kind of weirdo. By the end of the tour, Charlie had won her princess, and Dean had walked them home like the knight he’d been promoted to. He trudged back up to his apartment, worn out from all the walking but feeling pretty damn good otherwise. His own planned date had totally washed out, but he was glad things went better for Charlie. After all, she usually spent claims day mother henning everyone. It was about time she got a bit of a break. Someone else surely would’ve stepped up to fill her shoes, just for one day.

Feathers had probably been online all day, too. It was a thought that left Dean inexplicably out of sorts. Feathers had been planning on passing the time talking with him, after all, and Dean had oh so casually not even considered his feelings in all of this. He’d had a difficult time not obsessing over it while he’d been out with Charlie, but after the third time she’d caught him checking Discord, she’d taken his phone and told him it was his idea to go out and have fun to forget about claims for the day. He’d argued with her, but she was the queen, and the threat of demotion back to handmaiden had sealed the deal.

The long walk home had sobered him up a bit, and he debated with himself whether to check his email or not before getting a shower and heading to bed. He compromised, showering first and changing into comfy clothes that didn’t literally smell like a brewery. He swung by the kitchen for a glass of water, and then slowly ventured online.

His first stop was Charlie’s blog. She’d showed him the posts as she’d made them, but he wanted to see them all with fresher eyes. He scrolled through them, smiling at the happiness on Charlie’s face--and frowning at the two of them rolling their eyes at him in that one video. Dean couldn’t help it if the first time he met the guy with the cherry ‘65 Impala he’d spotted around town a few times happened to be in the middle of their pub crawl. He wasn’t passing up the chance to congratulate the dude on his hard work. If it had been a top of the line computer gaming system instead of a classic car, Charlie wouldn’t have been able to just walk by without at least making a friendly comment either.

There were photos they took at half a dozen other bars that hadn’t made the cut and wound up on Charlie’s blog, for one reason or another. She’d taken a few covert pics of him talking with various people. Or rather, him being chatted up by various people he’d politely turned down when they asked what he was doing after the tour. He hadn’t gone there for a singles meetup, after all. It was supposed to have been a date, and turning it into a random hookup hadn’t appealed to him at all. The first time it had happened, Charlie teased him and asked if he’d struck out. Dean had just frowned down into his beer and shook his head. She’d let up after the third, and stopped poking at him with questions about his apparent lack of a love life. It helped that she’d connected with Gilda by that point and had her own good time to focus on rather than pushing at him to forget his woes with some random stranger for the night.

Dean’s second stop on the internet was his email inbox. There it was, the _Congratulations, your fic has been claimed!_ Announcement. He took a deep breath and opened it to see who he’d be paired with, and punched the air in excitement. He knew this artist’s work, their unique and ethereal shadowbox designs perfectly suited to his story, and couldn’t wait to get to work with them. He shot off a quick email to them to introduce himself, thank the artist for choosing his story, and forward a link to his fic for them to begin reading.

It was only then that he thought of Feathers, and his curiosity piqued over who would be illustrating the fic he’d become so invested in over the last month. He went directly to his chat with Feathers, half expecting to find him online, or at least already having messaged him the second his story was claimed with all the details. Dean was disappointed to see Feathers hadn’t messaged him at all since the rather abrupt end to their chat the previous night. For some reason he couldn’t explain, the silence from Feathers worried him. It stung a little bit, too, but his first concern was for Feathers.

The regular author channel was flooded with new messages, though. Claimed authors were congratulating each other left and right. Some were discussing their artists’ work and wondering which scenes in their stories would most appeal to them to illustrate, while others gleefully shared their artists’ previous work and raved about how amazing it would be to work with them. The one person he fully expected to find in the thick of it was conspicuously absent.

Dean scrolled through hours’ worth of the chat, and didn’t find a single post from Feathers. He noticed an artist he and Feathers both knew well enough to DM was online, and sent her a message. He started off with pleasantries.

 **Impala67:** Hey there, I hope you got your first pick of fics today.

 **WitchySis:** HEY IMPALA! I sure did! Sorry it wasn’t yours, but you got the best artist for the job. :’) And I got the most romantic fic that a little birdie told me you’re intimately familiar with.

 **Impala67:** Wait, you got Feathers?

Dean sat there staring at her message, first of all thrilled that Feathers would get to work with her. Her illustrations were to die for, and he could already see the Paris skyline forming in her style. The revelation left him frowning, though. He couldn’t imagine how Feathers couldn’t have shared this news with him the minute he’d heard it. They’d both mentioned a few artists they hoped would choose their stories, and WitchySis had been at the very top of Feathers’ list.

 **WitchySis:** I sure did! I can’t wait to read the fic. The summary sounds fantastic.

 **Impala67:** You’re gonna love it. I’m surprised you’re not already halfway through it. I could barely put it down.

 **WitchySis:** Can’t read it until he sends it to me, or I would be. :’D

That had Dean slumping back into his cushions. There was no reason Feathers wouldn’t have replied to that notification right away unless something was really wrong. Alarm bells started ringing in his head, and his hands shook as he typed his next message, doing his best to sound casual and not totally panicked.

 **Impala67:** Wait, he hasn’t replied to you yet? He told me he was gonna spend the day hitting refresh on his inbox. You haven’t heard from him at all?

 **WitchySis:** Sorry. Far as I can tell, he hasn’t been online all day.

Dean pulled himself together and congratulated her again on a great selection. He offered to send her the fic himself, but she declined, insisting she’d wait for Feathers to get the official notification before stumbling unexpectedly into his fic doc.

He thought about how he could get in touch with Feathers. If something was truly wrong, and Feathers couldn’t use Discord or tumblr for whatever reason, Dean had no idea how to call or text him, or even where to go about searching for him. For all he knew, Feathers lived in Siberia and their schedules only meshed up because he worked the night shift. He dismissed that idea quickly as undeniably ridiculous. They at least knew each other better than that.

It left him with a completely hollow feeling, churning around his stomach with worry and fear and way too much fancy beer. Feathers might be in trouble, or hurt, or _something_ , and he had no idea how to help, or where to turn, or what to do. He did the only thing he could, and sent Feathers a message.

 **Impala67:** Congrats, I heard you were claimed. Kinda freaked out you’re not online right now. I hope you’re okay.

Dean debated whether or not to give Feathers his phone number and ask him to text him just to check in, to make sure he hadn’t been hit by a bus or slipped in the shower or eaten some bad tacos. Whatever, he was properly worried now. He waited half an hour for Feathers to reply, but there was nothing. Dean chickened out of leaving his number, but swore to himself that if Feathers hadn’t checked in by morning, that he’d send it before he had to leave for his brunch with Cas.

He couldn’t bring himself to go hang out with all the celebrating authors. Dean quietly shut his laptop and slumped off to bed.

Only a few hours later, Dean dragged himself out of bed earlier than he would’ve liked, but he couldn’t bear drifting off again only to suffer another nightmare about injured birds. His brain wasn’t helping with his worry about Feathers. He grabbed his laptop on the way to the kitchen to make coffee and opened Discord while it brewed. There was still nothing from Feathers. He sipped at his coffee, willing Feathers to appear and apologize for scaring the shit out of him. Maybe promising he’d never go radio silent like that again. But the force of his will was clearly not strong enough to summon Feathers on its own.

He didn’t even bother trying to turn to Charlie for advice. He was pretty sure that she would still be busy with Gilda. Dean wouldn’t be the one to ruin their morning after with a string of what he acknowledged would be increasingly angst-ridden messages. If it hadn’t been brunch day, Dean would’ve made himself pancakes, or something complicated enough to occupy his thoughts and stop him from worrying for at least a few minutes. Instead he made himself a slice of toast and stood at the counter munching it, not even really noticing the crumbs dusting his robe.

It was probably too late to cancel his outing with Cas, but he didn’t feel right about going now. He’d already abandoned Feathers yesterday, and that had turned out terribly. If he hadn’t been off nursing his hurt feelings over Cas having stood him up, he could’ve at least been there for Feathers. Charlie was probably right. It wasn’t fair to any of them to keep going like this. Dean really needed to nut up and pick one of them. And the way he felt right now, the fear that he may have lost his relationship with Feathers, and the worry over a man he had no way to reach out to, he knew Feathers was who he’d pick.

Cas was his friend. Probably the best friend he’d ever had, and he wouldn’t want to lose that relationship for anything. But he was pretty sure he needed Feathers in his life, however Feathers would have him. The realization terrified him. Would Feathers even be willing to drop the anonymity and make their relationship real? Would Feathers even speak to him again after whatever happened to him yesterday?

Dean poured himself another cup of coffee and carried it to his room to get dressed for the day. He needed to get out of the house, to clear his mind. When he was ready to go, he returned his mug to the kitchen sink and checked Discord one last time. Still nothing from Feathers. With a sigh, he quickly typed out another message and sent it before he could talk himself out of it.

 **Impala67:** I hope I didn’t do anything to piss you off. And I hope you’re doing okay. I am officially really worried about you, though. I gotta run an errand and I’ll be out for a few hours, but if you’re okay with it, would you mind calling, or texting, or something, just so I know you’re safe? (301) 555-0137. If I don’t answer, it’s because I’m driving. I just need to know you’re all good. Okay. good.

Dean pulled out his phone, made sure it was fully charged for the third time that morning, and reluctantly shut his laptop. He’d done all he could do, and now he had to wait. He could do that at the coffee shop, though. If he was half an hour early for Cas, so be it. Maybe sitting out in public for that long would be enough to make him feel even remotely social.

☆

Cas pulled up to their usual coffee shop, at their usual time. Surprisingly, he’d slept better than he had in weeks. Something about the promise of being fully known, fully understood and accepted by someone he could sit at a table with and breathe the same air as had settled him in unexpected ways. The excitement of spending time with Dean, of knowing in his heart that he could truly connect to another human being face to face; could connect to Dean in ways that he’d only ever felt toward Impala, without any hope that Impala ever would’ve reciprocated any of his feelings. With Dean, he had a chance, at least.

That excitement had driven him to avoid looking at the internet all morning. The anxiety he’d harbored for days over art claims had evaporated in the face of this new revelation. Impala had been right. A distraction was exactly what he’d needed. He was sure his interest in meeting his artist would return once he’d had a chance to clear the air with Dean. If everything went as he expected it to, he might even be able to share that interest with Dean, live and in person. The thought made him giddy, before a tiny voice at the back of his mind reminded him that Impala was the one he’d wanted to share that information with first. Impala had been the one to support and encourage him over the last month, not to mention the past several years. He felt for a moment that he was somehow betraying Impala by sharing any of this with Dean in the first place, and reminded himself that he was merely opening a door, testing the waters, and maybe working up the nerve to truly open himself up to Impala. Dean was simply the trial run. He had nothing to lose with Dean but his friendship. He reminded himself that he could still take all of this at his own pace and see where things went. With that firmly in mind, he squared his shoulders and walked into the coffee shop.

Cas was unsurprised to see Dean already sitting at their usual table with a cup of coffee, intently focused on his phone. Dean glanced up when he pulled out his chair, and quickly laid his phone face down on the table, looking almost guilty as he did.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas said, smiling across the table at him. “I hope you’ve been having a nice weekend.”

Dean frowned at him, looking worried, and glancing at his phone again before forcing a smile and sighing.

“I’ve had better.”

All the anticipation Cas had sustained himself with drained out of him in an instant. He finally got a good look at Dean, and saw how drawn and tired he looked. How worried he seemed. He’d been holding that image of Dean, smiling with Charlie, at the front of his thoughts and couldn’t imagine what had happened in the half a day since that picture had been taken to leave Dean looking so utterly burnt out now. This would evidently not be the easy conversation he’d been rehearsing in his mind all night.

“Is… is something wrong? Did something happen?”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, giving Cas a more genuine smile and shaking his head. He was about to reply when the waitress came over to fill Cas’s coffee cup and take their order. Cas nodded absently when she asked if they wanted the usual and thanked her as she walked away. Dean was back to looking dejected again by the time she left, and Cas needed to get to the bottom of it. He was about to question Dean again when Dean finally answered on his own.

“I haven’t heard back from someone, and I was expecting to. I’m worried about him, and it’s not like I can just drive over to his place and check on him. I don’t really know what to do. I reached out to a couple of our friends, and none of them have heard from him either. I… sorry, Cas. I don’t wanna be a downer here.”

“This is someone you knew before you moved here?” Cas asked, assuming it was a friend from Kansas, someone he couldn’t physically check in on now that he was a thousand miles away.

Dean’s brow furrowed at that, but then he shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, an old friend.”

Well that certainly explained the sudden shift in Dean’s demeanor. Cas could hopefully still work with that. Maybe he could improve Dean’s mood, or at least help distract him. The power of distraction could be a potent force for good, as Impala had suggested.

“Would you like to talk about it, or would you prefer I tried to help take your mind off it for a while?”

Dean blinked up at him, as if seeing Cas there for the first time. “I think distraction’s probably the way to go for now.” Dean sipped at his coffee and closed his eyes for a moment, before giving him a serious look. “So how did your thing yesterday go. The person like your story?”

Cas was left blinking at Dean now, trying to recall what he’d told Dean he would be doing all day. “Ah, yes? I suppose? I haven’t heard from them yet, but I think I would’ve known by now if things hadn’t gone well.”

Dean laughed, but it was more of a pained sound than anything happy. “So for at least one of us, no news is good news.”

Cas started to reach his hand out toward Dean’s where it rested on the table beside his phone, but hesitated and let it drop half a foot away. This could be as easy or as difficult as Cas made it for himself, and right now, he thought with Dean’s current state of mind, perhaps the best approach was just bulldozing him with information and hoping it actually helped. It had certainly worked for Cas the day before. He took a deep breath and took his shot.

“I wanted you to know that I regretted turning down your invitation yesterday. I regretted it at first, but then something remarkable happened, entirely by coincidence.” He paused to assess Dean’s reaction, and was pleased that he now looked intrigued as he leaned forward to pay closer attention to Cas. Encouraged, Cas went on.

“If I’d accepted your invitation, I never would’ve discovered something that I hope will be of interest to you, too. I believe we have a mutual friend,” Cas said, shifting back into the script he’d been working on all night. “A good number of mutual friends, in fact.”

“You been stalking me or something?” Dean asked, but from his smirk, Cas knew he wasn’t upset, even if he did still look a bit concerned.

Cas shook his head. “There’s a certain Queen who posted an interesting series of photos on tumblr yesterday. I had no idea the two of you were acquainted.”

For a moment, Dean looked absolutely panicked, before the realization hit him. If Cas had seen the photos, he also knew Charlie, and likely knew about Charlie’s fandom activities. If he followed her on tumblr, then he absolutely was involved in Unnatural fandom. Dean still had to ask, and Cas was happy to answer.

“You know Charlie?”

He nodded. “I didn’t actually know her name was Charlie until yesterday, until I put it together with something you’d said, after seeing those pictures. I’d expected her to be online yesterday, knee deep in Pinefest art claims drama. She told me she’d been invited out by a friend, and told me I could tag along vicariously through her tumblr posts. When I saw that _you_ were the friend she was with, knowing your only local friend was a woman called Charlie, I performed simple arithmetic and made the connection.”

Cas frowned down at his coffee, growing cold on the table in front of him, and then gave Dean a sad smile. Dean, for his part, was still blinking in shock, much like Cas had been the previous afternoon as all of this had hit him. Cas took pity on him, and carried on.

“At first I was angry at myself for turning you down. You’d obviously planned that outing far enough in advance to already have purchased tickets, and were left with having to find someone else to go with you. But then I realized what that meant. If you knew Charlie, then you knew about her hobbies. And at the very least, you wouldn’t look down on people who shared her hobbies. One hobby in particular.”

The instant Cas paused, Dean blurted out, “Write first, then read. You looked at me funny when I said that to you, forever ago. Because you know Charlie.”

It was Cas’s turn to blink in surprise. He couldn’t believe that Dean remembered the first conversation they’d ever had. He nodded slowly, and Dean grinned at him, finally having forgotten his earlier worry. If nothing else, Cas had at least succeeded in that one mission. He’d made Dean smile. But now that they’d established that they were both in the Unnatural fandom, at least by association with Charlie, Cas couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer.

“So who are you online? Because if you know Charlie online, there’s a high likelihood that we’re already acquainted.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a challenging look. “So you’re pretty involved in the fandom, too, huh? Now you know why I don’t talk about it at school, at least.”

Cas nodded. “Probably for similar reasons to my own for keeping that information to myself.”

“Parents might get weird about their kid’s counselor writing slash, yeah. I like my job.”

“You haven’t answered my question, Dean.”

A smile slowly spread across Dean’s face as the full delight of this situation began to dawn on him. “How about you try and guess.”

Cas glared at him, but he knew he was still smiling. He knew hundreds of people in the online fandom, but to keep that smile on his face a little longer, he’d happily play Dean’s game.

“So if Charlie knows you through the fandom, you must be close with her in order for you to spend your free time with her. And you just admitted to writing fic, so you’re likely one of the regulars in our writing discussions.”

Dean nodded once. “All that’s true, so far. You want a hint?” He looked positively giddy now, like he knew Cas would be impressed once he figured it out.

“You don’t use your real name in fandom, which is completely understandable under the circumstances. I would’ve guessed already if I knew of a writer named Dean.”

Dean sipped his coffee and stared him down over the cup. The waitress brought their food before Cas could continue guessing, and Dean shifted his focus to the pancakes on his plate, dousing them with syrup and taking a bite before Cas could say anything more. He cut into the stack of waffles on his own plate and swallowed three whole bites before Dean prodded him to resume the game.

“You wanna hint?”

Cas swallowed and took a gulp of coffee before shrugging. “If you think that would help, I wouldn’t say no.”

Dozens of names swirled through his mind while Dean’s smile grew into a wide grin. He couldn’t take the teasing much longer. Dean finally had pity on him and leaned over the table to look him right in the eye.

“What kinda car do I drive?”

That was not the helpful hint that Dean clearly expected it to be. Cas blinked at him in confusion.

“A big, old, black car?”

Dean sputtered incredulously, sitting bolt upright in his chair and staring at Cas in disbelief.

“Dude, you have seen my car practically every day for the last month, and that’s all you got?”

He shifted in his seat and looked anywhere but at Dean. “I’m not particularly familiar with vehicle makes and models, outside of 1967 Mustangs.”

Dean laughed at that. “Well, if you gotta know one car, that’s a good one. But, dude, just… go out to the parking lot and figure it out.”

Cas stared at him for a minute, until Dean made a shooing motion with his hand.

“You’re serious? You won’t just tell me?”

“This is more fun.”

Cas glared at him, shoved another bite of waffles in his mouth, and stood up. The moment he turned around, he could see Dean’s car through the front window of the restaurant, parked right outside. He might not even have to leave the building, if he squinted hard enough. The front grille of the car only revealed that the car was a Chevrolet, and Cas turned back to glare at Dean before giving him a dramatic sigh and going outside to walk around the car.

The sides and rear of the car gave him no further useful information, and he was just about to walk back inside and call Dean out for taunting him before a little plaque on the dashboard caught his attention. He cupped his hand against the passenger side window and peered through the glass to read it. In that moment, he was really glad he’d been leaning against the car, or he likely would’ve fallen on his face.

Cas recalled Charlie’s video of Dean looking at a very similar car to this one, and saying something about his being a 67… a 1967 Chevy Impala. He stood up straight and gawped at Dean through the window, and Dean gave him a little wave and a grin in return. Dean… was Impala. The concept nearly sent him crumpling to the ground. As soon as he reconnected with his feet and managed to get himself moving back toward Dean, he began thinking about how best to break the news to Dean. By the time he reached the door to the restaurant, his grin was a match for Dean’s.

Cas calmly sat down at the table across from Dean and held out his hand. Dean stared at it for a second before taking it, despite his apparent confusion.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Impala. You can call me Feathers.”


	14. Chapter 14

Dean sat there, dumbstruck, holding Cas’s hand across the table. No, _Feathers’_ hand. Or, he supposed _both_ of their hands. An entire month he’d been tearing himself up over both of them, and only because Cas had ditched him--and Dean guessed because he’d ditched Feathers, too-- could the universe align to show Cas the whole truth. And even then he’d only picked up the half of it. Maybe the universe just opened a door to the truth, and it took actually daring to peek inside to see the rest of it.

He imagined how Cas must’ve felt all night, knowing Dean was in the fandom but having no idea who he was. Cas had walked into the cafe that morning with a lightness about him that Dean had never seen before, in sharp contrast to Dean’s gloomy tension over his worry for Feathers. Ironic now that he knew they were the same fucking person. Dean realized he was still holding Cas’s hand, just staring at him and trying to put all of the pieces together. When it finally clicked, he jerked his hand back and frowned at Cas.

“You know I’ve been worried sick about you all night. You totally ghosted on the server and weren’t even replying to my messages. Before I left this morning, I actually sent you my phone number and asked you to text me to make sure you were okay. I didn’t know if you were pissed at me for going out yesterday, or if you were in the hospital, or worse…”

Cas took a deep breath, looking properly chastened. “I’m sorry, Dean. I haven’t even been back on Discord since I talked to Charlie at lunchtime yesterday, and then saw her posts. I still haven’t checked my email. I don’t know if I’ve even been claimed yet.”

Dean grunted. “Yeah, apparently you were one of the first picked. Congrats. I talked to WitchySis to ask if she’d seen you around.”

Cas’s eyes lit up at that and he shifted forward in his seat. “Did she claim my fic?”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, nodding. “Yup. She’s really excited to read it. I told her she was gonna love it. She wants to do something with the Paris skyline.”

Dean couldn’t stay mad at him long, if he was ever mad at all. He’d just been worried, and now he knew he had nothing to worry about. Not even the garbage he’d been worried about for the entire last month. He didn’t have to make the impossible choice between Cas and Feathers. Somehow a month of suffering seemed like a very small price to pay for that revelation. He uncrossed his arms and let all that anger drain away. He’d wasted enough time already.

“So, this is kinda weird, right?” Dean started, wanting to clear the last bit of debris left over from Cas shooting that grenade launcher through all his walls at once. “You have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to just tell you who I am? I mean online you,” Dean finished, grimacing at himself.

Cas smiled fondly at him and sighed. “Possibly as long as I’ve wanted to tell you who I am. I think we’ve both been a little stubborn, and a little bit afraid of what we’d learn about the other. I didn’t want to lose you as a friend. You’re far too important to me.”

Dean nodded along, and then frowned. “You’ve really never been on a roller coaster?”

Cas laughed at that, finally recalling that long ago conversation. “That’s what bothers you about me? I suppose I can accept that. I really have jumped out of a plane, though.”

“You _what?_ How the fuck is that anything like a roller coaster. That’s just… one long splat waiting to happen.” Dean shuddered with horror at the notion and shook his head decisively. “I’m taking you to Hershey Park next weekend. That’s just not okay.”

“I think I know what a roller coaster feels like, though. I believe we just experienced one.”

It was Dean’s turn to laugh. “You’re not wrong.” The ride wasn’t quite done yet, because there was one more issue that neither of them had figured out how to address yet. Possibly the scariest loop de loop of the entire track. “So where do we go from here?”

Cas bit his lip and fidgeted with his fork for a minute, his voice quieter and more vulnerable when he finally answered. “Where would you like to go?”

Dean leaned in closer, resting his hand back on the table between them and looking right in Cas’s eyes. “I don’t think there’s a single other person on the planet who knows me like you do, or who has ever known me like you do. And there’s still so much I wanna tell you, Cas.” Dean stopped for a moment, frowning at himself. “It feels weird to call you that now that I’m thinking about you as Feathers.”

Cas snorted, but cautiously reached out and rested his hand atop Dean’s. “There’s so much I want to tell you, too. I can hardly believe that we’re both really sitting here, that I can see you and touch you and you’re really real, and not a married grandfather of nine who lives in Peoria with half a dozen cats.”

“I’m allergic to cats,” Dean replied, looking slightly confused. “And I’m thirty-two. Hardly grandfatherly.”

Cas shook his head and laughed. “Who did you imagine I was in real life, then?”

“Not some grandpa,” Dean replied, only sounding a little bit offended.

“To be fair, that was my worst case scenario. What I feared, more than what I believed. So really, you never wondered about me outside of the fandom?”

“Constantly,” Dean replied, maybe a little too quickly and a little too forcefully. He flipped his hand over beneath Cas’s and gave it a little squeeze, gratified when Cas squeezed back. He went on feeling reassured, calmer. “All the time. Probably more than’s healthy. Since you asked to read my draft I’ve wanted to just tell you about me. Ironic how that was the same day I met you.” He frowned again, but Cas squeezed his hand and brought him back around. “Man, this is a mindfuck of a situation.”

“In a good way, I hope,” Cas said, a thread of nervousness creeping back into his voice.

Dean nodded, giving him a hopeful smile. “In the best way. You know, you’re like the one person in this fandom I most wanted to meet in person. If you’d told me you had tickets to a con, I probably would’ve sucked it up and gone just to see you. You were the only one I’d ever considered risking everything on.”

Cas raised an eyebrow and gave him a skeptical look. “You told Charlie your real identity.”

Dean shrugged. “She would’ve figured it out anyway, and she can keep a secret. I’ve known her for years, and she’s never even hinted online that she knew me in real life. Never once slipped and called me Dean on the public channels. Hell, she didn’t even use my name in her posts last night.”

“She used your photograph,” Cas retorted.

“Yeah, and I’m just a random dude she knows in real life. Not a fandom friend, as far as anyone who saw the pics was concerned.”

“Everyone other than me, anyway,” Cas replied.

“What can I say, Cas, you’re special.”

Dean delightedly watched Cas’s cheeks flush.

“In case it wasn’t obvious, I think you’re special, as well, Dean.”

This day hadn’t turned out anything like Dean had been expecting. He’d almost lost hope that he could even continue on like he had been for the last month-- for the last few _years_ where Feathers was concerned. From spending the morning wondering if it was possible to salvage his relationship with Feathers, he was now sitting across the table from him, _holding his fucking hand_ and feeling his face prickling with heat while the two of them were still dancing around their feelings for each other. Because one thing he was certain of now that he could look right into Feathers’ eyes, was that Feathers-- _Cas_ \-- had feelings for him, too. He didn’t need to divide them out anymore.

It hit him like an earthquake, the two boxes he’d kept the separate halves of his life locked away in for years suddenly slamming together with enough force that they disintegrated entirely, leaving him completely free, grasping Cas’s hand like a lifeline.

Dean cleared his throat, and didn’t let go. “So, how bad do you actually need groceries today?”

Cas blinked at him, clearly wondering what that had to do with anything. “I suppose I could get takeout for dinner.”

Dean nodded. “Actually, that kinda sounds like a plan, if you didn’t already have one for the rest of the day.”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

Dean couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him. “Cas. Feathers. Please, think about it. What have we sorta been doing for years now?”

He let Cas puzzle it out for himself, in the same adorably socially awkward way every last one of his interactions with Cas had gone from the day they’d met, and his heart thudded against his ribs knowing it was Feathers, too. The guy he’d been lowkey flirting with online for years, the guy who always seemed too good for him, too sophisticated with his scholarly takes and carefully empathetic writing. It was a wondrous revelation, watching him make the connection, like the two halves of his life sliding neatly into place. It was so much better than anything Dean had ever allowed himself to imagine.

“We’ve been dating for years, Dean,” Cas eventually said, with the same awe in his voice and in his eyes that Dean was feeling.

“Have we had enough dates yet to satisfy whatever your rule is?”

“If this was a fanfic, I’d write it that way, yes.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Dean replied, and then remembered something. “Oh no. No, no no.”

“What’s wrong, Dean? Is this… is this not okay?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, this is awesome. But the day I met you, I told Charlie about the hot librarian at school, and she might be writing a fanfic about us… or at least based on us. Maybe I need to tell her to stop. I don’t know if I actually want to read fanfic about us now.”

Cas stared in horror for a moment, but then he laughed. “Or we could write one of our own.”

“That does sound like a pretty good idea,” Dean replied, seriously. The idea of collaborating fully on a fic with Feathers gave him chills in entirely new ways. “Just promise me none of the smut happens in the library. I made Charlie swear it, too.”

“Ugh, Dean. I have to work there, in the presence of _children._ You don’t have to worry about it. I think either of our residences would suffice for any and all smut.”

Dean nodded eagerly at that, wondering if he was more interested in working out the plot of their story or skipping right to their very real happy ending. “So, which of us lives closer, and how fast can we get there?”

Cas’s eyes widened, and he licked his lips. “I live at the north end of town, less than ten minutes.”

“I’m down by the Promenade, so you’re definitely closer. Especially if they’ve got anything going on downtown today. Parking’s a bitch sometimes.”

“I can imagine,” Cas replied, looking down at their half-eaten breakfast. “Would you like to finish here and then follow me home?”

“I’ll follow you anywhere you want to go, Cas.”

Cas smiled at that, looking as relieved as Dean felt that they were finally on the same page. They finished quickly, and then Cas gave Dean his address just in case they got separated on the short drive. Dean drove the entire way with a growing anticipation for what was to come. It wasn’t some random hookup like the people at the bar had offered him. It wasn’t settling for someone who only cared about half of him. This was Cas, and Feathers, and years of want that he was finally allowed to sate.

Cas pulled into the driveway of a house on a quiet street just off the main road into town. It was nothing like Dean’s apartment, chosen hastily from halfway across the country for cost and convenience, a temporary home for a man in transit who didn’t know where he belonged in the world. Cas’s house was chosen carefully, and lovingly cared for. It was small, on a tiny patch of a yard mostly shaded by an ancient oak tree, but it was _cute._ Like the sort of house you’d expect the kindly old woman in a fairy tale to live in. Dean pulled in and parked behind Cas’s truck, and then got out and stood in the driveway admiring what he could only label a cottage.

“It’s not much, but it’s home,” Cas said, walking over to Dean’s side and venturing to take his hand again.

“It’s perfect, Cas. I can definitely see this as Feathers’ nest.”

Cas huffed out a laugh and shook his head, but Dean let him lead him up to the wide front porch, complete with an old fashioned porch swing.

“I sit out here and write when the weather cooperates,” Cas told him as he unlocked the front door. “I’d been looking for a place closer to school, but the porch sold me on this one.”

“It’s a nice porch, Cas,” Dean replied, unable to stop himself from smiling, wondering how often Cas had sat there while talking with him. It was surreal, finally knowing what his view looked like. He turned around, looking out across the lawn, the late morning sun shining through the leaves of the massive oak casting dancing golden sparkles across the patchy grass.

“Are you coming inside, Dean?” Cas asked, standing in the living room and calling out through the open front door.

Dean hurried after him and shut the door. They just stood there, two feet apart in Cas’s living room, staring at each other. Cas shifted his weight from foot to foot, like he wanted to come closer but wasn’t sure how.

“I can’t believe you’re in my house, just standing there like that,” Cas said, waving a hand up and down at Dean.

“I can’t believe I’m standing in your house, either,” Dean replied, taking a step toward Cas.

“Would you like to sit?” Cas asked, gesturing absently behind him toward the sofa.

Dean spotted Cas’s laptop sitting on the coffee table. Everywhere he looked was a reminder that this was where Feathers lived, from several framed prints of Unnatural art hanging on the walls, to a blanket draped over the back of the sofa emblazoned with magical symbols from the show. He wanted to curl up under that blanket with Cas and stay there for a week, letting this entire revelation sink in. But there were so many other things they could do first.

“I gotta ask first, Cas,” Dean said, stepping right up in front of him, his eyes flicking down to Cas’s lips before meeting his gaze. “Can I kiss you?”

“I certainly hope so,” Cas replied. “I’d be disappointed if you couldn’t.”

Dean reached out for him, sliding a hand around his waist. “You wanna hear something strange? This whole last month, I felt like I was cheating on you. With you.”

“That doesn’t sound strange at all,” Cas replied, resting one hand on Dean’s shoulder and holding on tight. “I’ve had strange dreams, of doing this with you, but with _you._ ”

“Same here.” Dean frowned at him. “Is it bad that that actually made sense?”

“Again, only if you can’t kiss me. I’m still waiting for proof that you can.”

Dean obliged, closing his eyes and finding Cas’s lips with his own. When the earth didn’t crack open and swallow him up, and he didn’t wake up in a cold sweat back in his own bedroom, he moaned with relief and deepened the kiss, frantically clinging on to Cas and feeling grounded in the way Cas clung back.

The kiss quickly grew out of control: from a soft wonder that any of this was happening at all, to the reassuring confirmation that all of this was real, into a life affirming declaration of the fact. Dean held him tight, his own newly integrated self attempting to absorb all of Cas, all of Feathers through osmosis. It would’ve felt embarrassingly needy if Cas hadn’t also been attempting to climb him like a tree, one leg hooked around Dean’s to keep him from moving even an inch away. Their lips parted, and Dean slowly kissed his way across Cas’s jaw and down his neck, Cas’s hands in his hair guiding his progress. He nuzzled the tender skin below Cas’s ear and Cas laughed, losing his balance and nearly sending both of them crashing into the coffee table.

“Careful there,” Dean said, breathless as he held Cas and kept him from falling. “Don’t wanna crush your laptop. Someone told me you use that thing for some pretty important correspondence.”

“Hmm, maybe I won’t need to correspond as much as I have in the past, since you’re in the same room now.”

“Yeah, but maybe we should take this to a less dangerous location.”

“That would require letting go of you for a minute,” Cas said, and then pulled Dean in by the back of his neck for another kiss than nearly unbalanced them again.

Dean took the opportunity to press himself against Cas, to let him feel just how aroused he was. Years of frustrated longing surged to the surface, and Dean frantically tried to convey all of it to Cas through touch, through the movement of their lips together and through his hands trying to hold every bit of Cas at once. Cas ground his hips against Dean’s, proving that the arousal was entirely mutual.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me,” Cas said, giving him a quick peck on the lips before tearing himself away and leading Dean upstairs.

Dean stumbled up as quickly as he could while taking in an even more perfect view of Cas’s ass than he’d had back in the library, because now he knew it was entirely welcome. And this wasn’t just Cas anymore. Years of longing for someone that he’d never had a face or a body to place him, years of slowly falling in love with a man completely disconnected from any physical manifestation he could envision, now wrapped up and delivered to him in the form of the one person Dean had let himself get close to in 3D. It was almost too much to wrap his head around, and for a quick moment he worried he wouldn’t even make it to Cas’s bedroom. This was better than every idle fantasy he’d indulged about Feathers combined, and there’d been plenty of idle fantasy over the years.

Cas led him to his bedroom and kicked off his shoes before pulling Dean back in and crashing their lips together, as if he was feeling the same urgent longing as Dean. Dean had to believe that he was from the way Cas seemed to be trying to crawl into his body through his mouth.

He struggled to push his own shoes off, but didn’t worry this time when he stumbled. Cas finally let them both fall onto the bed, still fully dressed.

“This needs to change,” Cas said, completely breathless and flushed, but staring at Dean with an intensity he’d never seen before as he tugged at Dean’s shirt.

“You’re a bit overdressed yourself,” Dean replied, raising himself off the bed just enough for Cas to pull his shirt up and over his head.

Cas tossed his shirt away and ran his hands down Dean’s chest, raking his fingernails gently across his nipples before looking down from Dean’s face and seeing Dean’s tattoo. He stopped, running his fingers over it reverently and looking up at Dean. Dean shrugged.

“Yeah, I got the tattoo. I’m a nerd for the show. Sue me.”

“At least I know you’re not possessed,” Cas replied, unbuttoning his own shirt to reveal the identical tattoo just below his collarbone.

Dean groaned when he saw it, and dove back in for another hungry kiss. It was too much, more than he ever could’ve hoped for. Feathers was simply too much for him, and he’d never wanted anyone or anything as badly as he wanted Cas in that moment. This was better than any fanfic either of them had ever contrived, and if he wasn’t careful it was gonna be over before it even started.

Cas pushed him away enough to finish removing his shirt before pulling Dean down again and grinding their hips together. So much warm, gorgeous bare skin beneath him, pressed so close, and Dean wanted to devour every inch of him. Their belt buckles caught on each other, frustrating Dean’s attempts to get any sort of relief for the aching hardness straining against his zipper. He reluctantly slid down, kissing his way down Cas’s chest until he could work a hand between them to undo Cas’s belt. He paused and gazed up at Cas, and his heart nearly stopped at the sight of Cas gazing down at him with lust-blown pupils, his hair completely disheveled by Dean’s hands, looking absolutely ravished and his breathing ragged with need. Cas slowly rolled his hips up, dragging his hard, denim-clad cock up Dean’s chest and nearly bumping his chin, reminding Dean that they were in the middle of something.

Dean huffed out a laugh and pushed himself up as Cas reached to unfasten his pants and wriggle out of them, sliding away from Dean up the bed.

Dean quickly stripped off the rest of his own clothes before crawling back up over him, arranging himself between Cas’s thighs and leaning down above him. They drank in the sight of each other for a moment before Dean couldn’t wait any longer.

“This is probably not gonna last long. I feel like I’ve been saving this up for years.”

“We can always try again later. I’m looking forward to taking my time studying every inch of you, but this is verging on an emergency right now,” Cas replied, once again hooking his foot around Dean’s thigh and pulling him down into a full-body kiss.

The first touch of their skin together sent shivers rippling down Dean’s spine. Cas clawed at his back as he gave a tentative roll of his hips and felt their cocks slide together. Cas groaned below him, and buried his face against Dean’s neck as they continued to rock together, holding each other so tightly Dean wondered how they could still move.

“I want you inside me,” Cas said quietly, and Dean tried to stop, but Cas had him locked in place and kept their pace. Cas wasn’t finished talking, and he wanted Dean to listen. “I want to be inside you. I want to taste you and suck every last drop out of you until we’re one. I don’t want this to stop. I want you here, just like this, forever. I want you in every way you’ll have me, Dean.”

“God, I want that too, Cas. I want it. You,” Dean said, and he knew he couldn’t last much longer. It was all too much, and he was already straining to hold himself back. He’d already given every other piece of himself to Cas, and he was racing toward the edge of a cliff to throw him that final bit. “Kiss me, please.”

Cas opened his eyes and rolled his head back, and pulled Dean down into a devouring kiss. Cas reached between them, lining them up together in his hand and urging Dean along. That’s all it took, Cas’s hand on him, to send him reeling over the edge, looking down into Cas’s awed face as he followed Dean into bliss.

They lay there for a long moment, Dean’s forehead resting against Cas’s, eyes closed until their hearts slowed and they could breathe again. He opened his eyes to find Cas studying him with wonder. Dean tried to slide off of him, out of the sticky mess cooling between them, but Cas held him there and refused to let go. Dean was okay with that plan, too.

“I believe that now is the time to ask where we go from here,” Cas said, his voice more ragged.

“I was gonna suggest the shower, but I know what you mean.”

Cas gently slapped his ass, and Dean smiled at him. “I mean one of the things we never seemed to address during our deeply personal conversations was relationships. And our respective feelings about them. And about each other.”

“That’s at least three things,” Dean replied, and Cas raised an eyebrow at him as if Dean was toeing the line of earning himself another slap. Dean decided to get right to the point, as uncomfortably awkward as it was. Cas deserved the truth. “I don’t do relationships. Or, at least, I didn’t. I had you, you know? Maybe not physically, but in every other way that mattered. I haven’t been interested in anyone else for a long time, until I met you.” Dean frowned at that, but after a moment’s consideration he just shrugged and gave Cas a sheepish smile.

“That roughly sums up my experience, as well.”

“I keep wanting to think this is too new, that it’s all happening too fast,” Dean added before he lost his nerve. “But it’s not new, and this is so long overdue that it could’ve been forty years instead of four in the making.”

Cas nodded, letting the arm he’d had clamped around Dean’s waist relax, running his hand gently up and down Dean’s back. Fuck it felt good, just to be held and touched and cared for like this.

“I agree,” Cas said, almost in a whisper.

“I talked to Charlie weeks ago about this, about what to do about you… and you… and she told me I should just talk to you-- Cas-you-- and see where things went. And I just ranted at her about Feathers-you, and what I felt for you, and why I couldn’t just give you up for a chance at a relationship with anyone else. You know what she told me?”

Cas’s eyes had gone wide while Dean talked, and he shook his head slowly.

“She told me I was in love with you,” Dean said. “With Feathers.”

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice fighting its way through a choked tangle of emotions. “I love you, too.”

Dean couldn’t resist any longer, and leaned down to gently kiss his lips, finally feeling perfect contentment for the first time in his life. This, right here in Cas’s arms, was where he belonged.


	15. Chapter 15

Life went on, with a few gradual changes. Instead of chatting every night on Discord, they sat side by side on Cas’s sofa, or his porch swing, or in his bed, writing and editing, and now collaborating on a new story together.

They both decided they’d be slightly more open about their lives online, but that they still valued their privacy too much to let all of those walls drop. They did attend a preseason Unnatural watch party at Charlie’s house a few weeks later, and met a few other locals in the fandom who were duly sworn to secrecy about their identities. Most of these little reveals cast barely noticeable ripples in their lives and smoothed out into a new, happier normal.

They’d been upfront with their coworkers about their relationship from the start. In the least surprising revelation of the decade, everyone they worked with was thrilled for them. A week later, they allowed it to become common knowledge within the Unnatural fandom that they were together in real life, too. It shouldn’t have been particularly shocking for anyone at Charlie’s small gathering to finally meet them in person, with one notable exception.

The look on Alicia’s face when Charlie introduced them by their fandom names was matched only by the looks on Dean and Cas’s faces as Charlie introduced her as WitchySis, Cas’s artist for the Pinefest. She let the full reality of that settle in before laughing hysterically.

“You know half the teachers at school are massive Unnatural fans, right? Jody, Donna, even Mildred. We had a secret little club going for a while until we realized how many of us were writing or drawing for the fandom. It’s not really much of a secret anymore. Just wait until the new season starts up and you’ll see for yourselves.” Alicia grinned at them both. “And they’re gonna pass out cold when they learn who you two are. You guys are practically fandom royalty.”

Charlie cleared her throat and pointed at herself. “But I’m still the queen.”

“We’re plenty happy to let you rule,” Dean said, giving her an exaggerated curtsy.

“We gotta work on the formalities, handmaiden.”

“Hey, I thought I got promoted to knight?”

Charlie grinned at him. “You can have a sword, but you’ll always be my handmaiden.”

Dean was plenty happy with that, too.

Their lives had gone from isolated secrecy to complete acceptance to having a real family practically overnight. Months ago, Mildred had assured Dean the school was like a family, and for the first time, Dean realized just how true that really was.

Pinefest posting began shortly before the season premiere of Unnatural. Cas and Alicia had volunteered to post on the first day, which freed him up to help Dean cope with the additional two weeks he had to wait for his posting date. Distracting Dean in new and interesting ways became one of Cas’s favorite pastimes. Dean was all for it, too.

On premiere night, Charlie invited them to her annual watch party. Despite Charlie and Alicia’s pleas, they chose to watch together on Cas’s sofa, bundled up in their favorite blanket and liveblogging the episode together online. The avalanche of questions they received on tumblr from everyone they knew was over at Charlie’s house felt more like a punishment for refusing to just come over and sit in the room to engage in a direct commentary on the episode.

“What, do they want the two of us to provide a running commentary like it was a nature documentary or something?” Dean asked, scrolling incredulously through his inbox.

“That seems to be the case,” Cas replied, frowning at his own slew of messages.

Dean grunted, and then made a bold suggestion. “Tell them they’re all welcome to come over on Saturday, and we’ll give ‘em the full Impala and Feathers meta watching experience.”

Cas laughed with dark delight at that. “We’ll have to tell them to dress comfortably and bring snacks. We could be here for a while.”

It became a tradition after that, welcoming the whole family into their home, where watching and discussing the show together grew into sharing their lives with a new extended family.

They spent the Thanksgiving break moving the remainder of Dean’s things into Cas’s house. Sam and Rowena came up for the Thanksgiving housewarming, and it truly was both. Cas found his family, Dean found his home, and that was just the road so far.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! Don't forget to go appreciate [dmsilvisart](http://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com) for the beautiful artwork, too!
> 
> There's a few important notes I need to add, beyond the usual reminder to find me on tumblr (or just inviting you to read my other fic here on AO3-- possibly starting with Project Beyonce, if you enjoyed this story). If you feel compelled to read the fic Dean and Cas wrote for this challenge, Dean was writing my fic Winchester 275, and Cas was writing my fic Revenge of the Subtext (and the sequel to it called These Are Words In A Script). All the fic they reference in this story... is fic I've written. Surprise! So if those stories piqued your interest, you know where to find them all. It was easier than having to essentially write three fanfics just to write this one. :P
> 
> This is also loosely set in the town where I live (since I haven't tried to conceal my identity in fandom). We really do have a brewery walking tour event, we really do have a promenade with a lovely little creek flowing through, and we really do have a restaurant exactly like the Wok and Roll (it's just not called that...). High fives to anyone who's now substantially narrowed down where I live. If you're local, hmu and we can have our own walking tour (breweries and/or bakeries, your choice) :'D
> 
> There's also mentions of the "NealEm Pinefest," which is loosely based on the Dean/Cas Pinefest, of course, but substantial liberties have been taken with how the Pinefest is run, because fiction. Clearly, "Unnatural" in this fic is "Supernatural." I chose Dean and Sam's names based on the real-life inspirations for the characters in On The Road-- Neal and Jack. Cas became Emmanuel.
> 
> The airport fic idea Dean tells Cas about in chapter 8 is still on my To Be Written list for [Strob](http://truebluecas.tumblr.com). I SWEAR I WILL WRITE IT SOMEDAY. I've been promising it since destielcon 2016, and instead wrote the airport case fic that Dean talks about in chapter 9... whoopsie? But you can read that fic if you're interested... It's called "The Terminal Job."
> 
> Also, the artist Dean was hoping to be paired with for his version of Winchester 275 is the artist I was paired with in the 2018 Pinefest, and the art he described is exactly her style... you can see that gorgeous work by clicking through to the fic (and all her other work) on tumblr at [whichstiel](http://whichstiel.tumblr.com).
> 
> You can find a rebloggable post for this fic and art on the pinefest tumblr right here [ right here.](https://deancaspinefest.tumblr.com/post/615754456832819200/write-first-then-read-m-60254-words)
> 
> And as usual, I'm of course still on the tumblr. Drop by and say hello. I'm [mittensmorgul](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com)


End file.
